Balm
by rum423
Summary: Will a terrible accident and the revelation of terrible secrets help heal Billy and Victoria? Does love conquer all?
1. Chapter 1

This is a story that I had no intentions of writing, but writing isn't always a choice. I hate what the last couple of regimes have done to Billy and Victoria, and if I'm completely honest, I'm still not over Billy Miller as Billy. That doesn't mean I'm unwilling to accept another or chastise those who like the current and former portrayer. I Do channel Mr. Miller's voice and mannerisms, his take on Billy when I write. You don't have to picture him if you choose to take this journey, but I did.

The story begins in February 2015. The month of catastrophes is not included in my story.

* * *

Balm

Chapter One

She was still his next of kin. She was still his fucking next of kin.

Of course she was. Why should that surprise her? It had only been six months, six whole months since they'd signed divorce papers, even longer since he'd spent a night under their roof, in their bed. And yet, every month, like clockwork, a parade of magazines with "William Abbott" plastered across the labels showed up in her mail box, like lost puppies begging to be let in, regular reminders of the life they'd shared, the one that had shattered in a single moment. Of course she was still his next of kin. He couldn't even handle a simple change of address.

The elevator dinged and came to a halt. The woman with gray hair and a steaming cup of coffee despite the late hour exited the paralyzing confines they had shared with all the familiarity and habit of returning home after a long day. The third floor. Oncology. Instantly, Victoria knew every detail of her life.

No one took the woman's place, and when the doors closed on her solitude, Victoria released her frustration onto the cold metal. The sting to the palm of her hand distracted her from the pounding in her head and the uneasiness in her gut, for a brief moment anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, the illuminated number 8 taunted her, reminded her, and her assaulting hand attacked it next, pressing the button over and over again, willing the elevator to move faster while willing her brain to forget the words the curt nurse in the emergency room had said after "Eighth Floor." And that sudden sympathetic look on her face as she'd said them.

She almost hadn't come. When the call came, ringing her out of the new normal she had somehow created for herself and for her children, she decided right away she wouldn't come. She'd done her duty, though, called Jack instead, turned him over to his real next of kin. Jack would call Ashley and Traci, Jill, whoever he wanted. They would go to the hospital. They would take care of him. Because Billy wasn't her responsibility anymore. He wasn't her headache, and he wasn't her husband. She'd forced herself to remember that, and failed at explaining it to the voice on the other end of the line, the one that kept repeating, "There's been an accident."

Yet here she was, and not because of the graveness in the voice on the phone, or the strange agitation in Jack's. Or that she hadn't heard from him since Delia's birthday, and her instinct had been telling her something was wrong ever since. It was Johnny, instead, who convinced her to go. He had charmed his way into a midnight snack after she'd finally gotten Katie down for the night, and was busy biting the head off of an animal cracker when the call came. Though she spoke in hushed tones, his little ears perked up when she called Uncle Jack and repeated his father's name followed by "hospital" over and over again.

"Daddy sick?" her blue-eyed boy asked as he crawled closer to her on the couch. He was so smart and intuitive and at almost three knew what "hospital" meant all too well. Victoria smoothed his hair down and smiled reassuringly at him as she finished the call to Jack. Despite everything that had happened, everything they had been through, he was still the father of her children. He was still Billy. And she had to make sure he was okay.

A promise to Johnny and a phone call to Hannah later, she found herself racing through the emergency room doors. It felt like October all over again, and she half-expected to see him there, slumped over in a chair, his head buried in his hands, a shell of the man she loved fossilized in the moment that would always seem like the beginning of the end. But he wasn't there. No one she recognized was.

"Billy Abbott," she had demanded to the nurse behind the desk.

"One minute." The petit blonde nurse spoke with no urgency, and her eyes remained glued to her computer.

"Billy Abbott," Victoria shouted this time. "Where is he?"

The nurse looked up then, blankly, and then back to her computer. "He's already been moved. Eighth floor." That was when her face changed, and although Victoria was already sprinting towards the elevators, she heard the words that followed. "Intensive care."

The elevator dinged a second time, and those two words punched her in the gut again as she catapulted through half-open doors, this time in black and white, glaring in fluorescent light. She saw Jack first, before anyone else, before he saw her. He was standing a few feet from her, paused as if mid-pace, or as if he was waiting for someone, for her even though she had been adamant she wasn't coming. One hand was at his hip, displacing a portion of the navy jacket that perfectly matched his pants, the other hand on his face, his fingers shielding his eyes like Delia used to do during the scary parts of a movie. Seeing him that way made her want to run back onto the elevator, pound the buttons until she reached the ground floor, rush past the nurse who had given her directions, back home to cuddle with Johnny on the couch. But Jack saw her before she could make her escape, his eyes locking her in place. They were red, his eyes, and his face was wet and showing age it usually didn't. He was in front of her before she knew it, taking her by the shoulders, pulling her to him, holding on for dear life. She held back, and for a minute they were each responsible for holding the other up. Over his shoulder she saw Ashley and Traci, both teary-eyed and frantic. Jill was there, too, leaning against the nurse's station, Colin behind her rubbing her shoulders.

"How bad is it, Jack?" she choked into his shoulder.

"We don't know. They won't tell us anything." She felt him swallow against her and press his lips against her temple before pulling away. "Just that there was a car accident, and he's critical. The doctor…he, um, he's supposed to be on his way."

The tears she had been forcing back with anger couldn't be stopped now. A few rolled down her face, hot and wet, and Jack pulled her to him again. The others saw her then, and any fear she had of not being welcome vanished as they approached and took turns hugging her. They seemed relieved that she was there. She was still family, and they were still bound by their love for Billy.

"Oh honey," Jill cried as she grabbed her. She was the last in line, and the hug she pulled her into was fierce and loving, like a mother's. Victoria returned the embrace just as fiercely, out of her own need and because she recognized that Jill, despite her complicated relationship with her son, was once again the parent of a child in distress.

"Mr. Abbott?"

Jill let go at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, but kept a firm hold around Victoria's waist as they all turned to watch the stranger in the white coat approach. They stood shoulder to shoulder, she, Jill Ashley, Traci and Jack, a grownup version of red rover, challenging the tall doctor to break through their solidarity. Colin trailed behind, within reach of Jill, but not interfering.

"I'm Jack Abbott."

The stranger shifted the clipboard he carried from his right hand to his left, and the two men shook hands. He introduced himself as Dr. Watkins or Walters or something. Victoria's head was still pounding, and all she wanted to hear from him was that Billy was going to be okay. That's all he needed to say. Then she could leave, and the world would go back to the way it was.

"How is he?" Jill blurted and pressed her fingers tighter into Victoria's flesh. Colin moved forward then and took hold of his wife's free hand, ready to steady her if the answer wasn't what she was looking for. "How's my son?"

"Your son is still critical, Mrs…"

"Atkinson. Jill. Call me Jill. And what does that mean, critical?"

"Perhaps we should step into the waiting room," the doctor said.

"No," Jill said quickly. "Just tell me how he is."

"Here is fine," Jack added, calmer, though Victoria still sensed he was more afraid than he was letting on.

The doctor nodded, conceding to the group, and his face grew deadly serious. "Your son was brought in unconscious around 9:00 p.m. He was involved in a single car crash. It appears the vehicle he was driving went over a guardrail. A passerby was able to pull him from the car just before it exploded. He sustained numerous injuries, the least of which is a broken arm. He has multiple lacerations and contusions to his face and extremities, a few 1st degree burns. He suffered a blow to the head and three cracked ribs which has impacted his breathing. We had to place him on a ventilator."

"A ventilator? Is that really necessary, doctor?" Traci cried more than asked.

"Yes," he replied simply. "He is unable to breathe on his own at this time."

"But he's going to make it, right? Our brother's going to be okay?"

The doctor looked at Ashley, who had asked the question and then cleared his throat. He wasn't an old man, but not a green physician either. Still, Victoria could tell these were the questions he had never quite gotten used to, the tear-stained pleas for a lie.

"It's too early to tell," came his practiced response. "Billy has yet to regain consciousness, and we won't know the full extent of his head injury until some of the swelling goes down."

"Please, doctor," Jill begged. "What are his chances? No medical jargon. Just tell me straight if my son is going to pull through."

"I'm sorry. It…doesn't look good."

Victoria heard a strangled cry escape from her former mother-in-law's throat, and then she was abandoned. Jill was in Colin's arms now, fully, just as Ashley and Traci were in each other's, all of them crying. Jack looked as though he were going to be sick. Victoria stiffened her spine and wrapped herself in her own embrace. She was dizzy with words like "ventilator" and "unconscious," but numb to their meaning. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

"Was he drinking?" Her voice surprised her almost as much as her words surprised everyone else. But their shock didn't faze her. Deep down, they all had to be wrestling with the possibility.

"I-I'm sorry," the doctor stammered. "You are…?"

"She's his wife," Jill answered between sniffles.

"His EX-wife," Victoria corrected coldly and met the stranger's gaze full on. "We have two children, and I need to know what to tell them. Was he drinking?"

"No," the doctor responded as if she had accused him of driving drunk. "The toxicology report came back clean. No trace of alcohol. Or any other substance."

A collective sigh of relief engulfed her, and though she, too, was relieved, her breath refused to exhale. That was the last bit of anger she had to hold onto, and without it, she feared falling apart.

"But that does bring up another matter," said Doctor Walker, which she clearly read on his nametag when he raised an arm to summon a pair of uniformed police officers to them. It was the first time Victoria noticed them, but now she realized they must have been there, on the other side of the nurse's station, when she first stepped off the elevator.

"I thought you said he wasn't drinking."

"This is standard procedure, ma'am," the shorter of the two officers answered Jill.

"He wasn't," Doctor Walker reiterated. "There was no alcohol in his system, but his clothes were drenched in scotch. And the officers here found an open container near the accident."

"So it broke and spilled in the crash," Jack rationalized. Their relief was on the verge of being confiscated.

"Maybe," the taller officer said, though it was clear he wasn't convinced. "But the bottle wasn't broken. If it was in fact involved in the crash, it survived intact."

"What does that mean? "If" it was involved? What are you not telling us?"

"There are a lot of things not adding up about the crash, and we're hoping you can help us with some of the answers. For instance, does Mr. Abbott make it a habit of driving without his ID?"

"Of course not," Jack answered the officer. "Are you saying he didn't have his ID on him?"

"Billy was brought in as a John Doe," Doctor Walker interjected. Jack was growing more agitated with each question, and Victoria sensed the doctor stepped in to diffuse the situation. "That's why it took so long for us to contact you. He had no ID, no wallet, no cell phone. Nothing. It was luck, actually, that we figured out who he was as soon as we did."

"That doesn't make any sense," Traci said. "Our brother can be a bit irresponsible, but he wouldn't go off without his phone or wallet. He has kids."

"Do you think there was a robbery or something?" Ashley asked as she comforted her sister.

"We can't rule anything out," the shorter officer piped in. "That's why we'd like to speak with each of you, get a feel for Mr. Abbott's recent whereabouts and frame of mind."

"Of course," they all seemed to answer in unison, but the officer wasn't finished speaking.

"Because if there was anyone else involved in the crash and Mr. Abbott doesn't make it, we're looking at some serious charges here."

"Don't say that," Victoria snapped. She had been quiet for a while, drowning in facts and denial, but those words, the words the officer dared to say, sent her fuming towards him, her smaller body invading his space, her blue eyes glaring at him. "Don't you say that. Don't. Billy's going to make it. He always makes it."

Jill's arms were around her again, pulling her back into the fold as the offending officer hung his head. The other man in uniform, the taller one, stepped forward and tipped his hat in respect. "I'm sorry," he said for his partner and then produced a folded piece of paper form his coat pocket. "Mr. Abbott…he did regain consciousness for a few minutes in the ambulance. He had this in his hand. Said to give it to "her."

"Her?" Jill repeated, and all eyes turned to Victoria, waiting for her to grab the paper. But for the first time since the call came in, she realized someone was missing from picture, someone else who, like it or not, could very well be "her." After all, he wasn't hers anymore. It seemed that everyone else remembered Chelsea at the same time she did, and all the eyes that had turned to her so quickly, quickly turned away. All but Jack's. He seemed unwavering in his belief, but she wasn't, and so Jack reached out and accepted the note, unfolding it and folding it back in a matter of seconds.

"It's for you," he said, the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

It felt like nothing when Jack dropped the square of paper in her hands, airy nothing. Yet Victoria unfolded it with all the care and reverence saved for holy sacrament and newborn babies. The edges were yellow, the paper clearly old and repurposed, but the handwriting, the loops and lines, was Billy's. She wiped the blurriness of tears away with the back of her hand and read the first line to herself.

_Dear Vick,_

_ Do I even still get to call you that? I'll be dead by the time you read this, so I guess it doesn't matter. _

The pain was like a knife twisting in her stomach. She folded the letter back roughly, without care or reverence, without finishing it. She felt so many pairs of eyes on her, and turned away from the group, only to be assaulted by that damn sign with those two words that were still taunting her. Intensive Care.

"What is it?" Jill asked, placing a cautious hand on her former daughter-in-law's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"Goodbye," Victoria whispered just loud enough for the others to hear her. "He's saying goodbye."

She felt them coming, the tears that would make her a puddle. They couldn't come, not now. She bit her lip hard and spun around, startling Jill, alarming the others, but she paid no mind to any of them. There was only one thing on her mind now. "I need to see him?" she demanded to Dr. Walker. "I need to see him now. Can I please see him?"

"I'm sorry," he replied, unnerved. "It's only immediate family right now. And since..."

"She is family." Jack's voice boomed over her shoulder, and she shot him a look of gratitude. His lip was quivering and his eyes were newly red. "She's the closest family he has. That he's ever had. She gets to see him."

"Room 817," the stranger in the white coat said, a new touch of gentleness in his voice despite the cloud of confusion that covered his face. "Through those doors. Just press the button."

* * *

The button was larger than her hand, and when she pressed it, the heavy double doors swung open, inviting her inside. It was late, well after midnight now, and the ICU was quiet except for the handful of nurses still busy caring for those who were battling death. Victoria suddenly regretted how rude she had been to the nurse in the E.R. It had to be a thankless job. Hopeless on some days.

Her heels clicked loud on the tile floor. The sound echoed down the hall, marking her progress to room 817. It seemed too loud, jarring, so she slowed her pace and pulled her coat tighter around her as she repeated in her head all the things Dr. Walker had said: contusions, lacerations, broken arm, broken ribs, ventilator, critical. She had to be prepared.

The rooms she passed seemed to be all glass, their inhabitants on display with their tubes and machines that were keeping them alive. In most there was someone, a spouse, a parent, someone who cared, either curled up in a makeshift bed or sitting vigil in the dark. This was their new normal, a new normal Victoria remembered all too well. It seemed like so long ago when her father had his transplant. When Colleen died. When she and Billy were virtual strangers who hated each other because that's what Newmans and Abbotts did. It seemed like so long ago, and yet, it felt just like yesterday.

She paused at Room 815 and took a deep breath. Only then did she realize she was shaking, the now crumpled paper rattling in her grasp. In theory this shouldn't be that hard. He had been in car accidents before, been in the hospital before. But this wasn't like last year, the crash with Adam. This wasn't like the summer they lost Lucy and he lost custody of Delia. There were so many more scars and complications between them no. And he was on life support. No matter how many times she repeated it to herself, there was no way to prepare for it.

As she stood there like a coward, the door to what had to be Billy's room swung open, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. As impossible as it was, she had hoped it was him, playing a joke or being a miracle. She would have taken either. But it wasn't him. It was a nurse, his nurse, and she jumped too at the sight of Victoria.

"I'm – I'm sorry," Victoria rasped.

The nurse in aqua scrubs smiled as she caught her breath. Though Victoria had scared her, she didn't seem surprised to find someone there, hiding in plain sight. She seemed to know every thought, every concern, every fear. She also seemed to know how much Victoria needed to be in that room. "You can go in," she said quietly and held the door until, head down and fast like a Band-Aid, she crossed the threshold.

The door clicked behind her, but minutes passed before she tore her eyes from her feet and faced her new normal. It was awful and overwhelming, nothing she could have prepared for. Shock caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth as sounds that weren't human tried to escape, and tears that were all too human did. There was very little of the man she had spent five years loving and needing lying in front of her. But it was him. It was Billy. Lifeless and unrecognizable.

He was shirtless, covered only to the waist. There was a cast on his right arm, to his elbow, and his torso was bandaged just like the last time he injured his ribs. Wires were taped to his chest, their other ends connected to the line of machines that surrounded him, and from his mouth rose the tube that was keeping him alive. His face was shiny and swollen, his right eye almost completely hidden. There were cuts to his forehead and upper lip stitched together with thick, black thread and other, smaller cuts that hadn't required such attention.

There was a stool by the bed, and she sat on it as quietly as she could as if trying not to wake him. She stared at him until she was used to it, until she accepted that what was in front of her was Billy. She wanted to touch him, but feared that every inch of him was in pain. There was a spot on his left wrist where no cuts or burns had discolored his skin, where no cast hid it. That was where she gingerly placed one and then two fingers with her free hand.

There had always been something broken about Billy Abbott. She had seen it first that New Year's Eve she pulled him from a gutter. Maybe she had sensed it before, but that snowy night she saw it, that dangerous, sad, cracked part of him that made him all the more beautiful, all the more desirable. He had always been broken, and his jagged edges had always cut the ones closest to him. But this time, this time he seemed truly unfixable.

When her pulse finally slowed, she removed broke contact with his skin and for the second time unfolded the letter and started from the beginning. If he was going to say goodbye, he was damn well going to be there when he did.

_ Dear Vick,_

_Do I even still get to call you that? I'll be dead by the time you read this, so I guess it doesn't matter._

_ Sorry. That wasn't supposed to be funny. _

_ Bu, I am dying, Vick. I'm dying and I know it. I've accepted it, and I've accepted it's probably for the best. _

_ They're all liars you know, those people who say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. It's more like a slow reel of all your regrets, your mistakes, the chances you won't get to make things right. All mine have to do with you. My regrets. My mistakes. The chances I won't get to make it right. _

_ It's not all sad, though. There's this incredible beauty to death, this moment of clarity when you finally see what was real, what you made up to replace what you couldn't have and you realize how you should have done things, how much more beautiful your life could have been if you had just done better. Been better. Loved better. Maybe in the next life, huh? _

_ I'm sorry, Victoria. I'm sorry for everything. And I'm sorry I won't get to make it up to you and that I won't get to see our children turn out just like you. I want you to tell them everything about me. Don't sugarcoat me. Don't make me a hero for them. Tell them how I screwed up. And then please tell them how much I loved them and their mother._

_ Your face will be the last thing I see. Yours and Johnny's. And Katie's. _

_ And Reed's. And DeeDee's._

_ Love,_

_ Billy_

_ P.S. Adam _

A tear hit the crisp white sheet that lay under his hand, then another and another. She picked up his hand, not caring if it hurt him. She needed to feel his skin, to know that it was still warm, that for now he was wrong and still with her. How was this the man she had pulled from the gutter? How was this the man she had loved so hard? How was this the way he would end? How could there be no more time?

His ring finger called to her. The bit of skin where his tattoo had been stood out like skin that hadn't seen the sun in years, no longer black like hers but white. A ghost of a ring. She examined it as a part of him she didn't know, would likely never know. Between his fingers, something caught her eye. It was small and hidden, ink that wouldn't wipe away, a perfect piece of the tattoo that hadn't been removed.

"It's still there," she whispered and looked at him, at his lacerations and contusions, his broken bones, and all his jagged edges that were still cutting her. "It's still there."

The white flag was thrown, and she wept, for all that they were and all that they lost and all they would never be again.


	2. Chapter 2

Balm

Chapter 2

The beeping was a comfort. Its steady rhythm was proof that Billy was still alive, still with them despite what the doctor had warned. It thumped in Victoria's chest like hope, her heart translating the constant beep_, _beep_, _beep_, _beep into a silent prayer_: breathe, breathe, breathe, breath. _And then, in the midst of her prayer, the answer would come as the ventilator sighed, forcing air through Billy's lungs and reminding her, too, to exhale. This was what she focused on, the beeping, and not the million drops of fear tapping at her soul.

Behind her, the heavy door clicked. She didn't move, didn't dare turn her head away from Billy to see who it was. Jill and Colin had already been to see him. So had Traci and Ashley. She had watched both groups from the chair by his bed, the heels of her boots teetering on the edge of the seat, her knees drawn to her chest like a child or an animal protecting itself. She watched them sob and pray over him, mother him and beg him to fight and get better. She watched them do as she had done and search for places to touch him and kiss him without hurting him, and then they told him how much they loved him and needed him, listed all the things he had to live for. She watched it all, motionless and numb, without interrupting, without participating.

They had been alone for a while, she and Billy and the machines, so when the door opened this time, Victoria knew it had to be Jack. Only three visitors were allowed at a time in the ICU, and somehow, it was just understood she was always the third. The others would simply have to take turns. Silence followed the click of the door, and panic struck. Maybe it wasn't Jack after all. Or maybe he wasn't alone. Once again, she was reminded that technically, this wasn't her place, her responsibility. He wasn't hers. There was someone else.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Sigh. _

She refused to exhale this time, holding the air tight in her lungs instead, until finally the door clicked again and one pair of shoes, only one pair, shuffled towards her and a strong, worn hand she had known since childhood landed heavily on her shoulder. The air rushed violently from her lungs at his touch, and Victoria laced her fingers through his and leaned her head against his suited arm.

"It's like déjà vu," she murmured.

"All over again," Jack echoed and then slipped his hand from hers and off her shoulder.

He appeared in the periphery, rounding the hospital bed, coming to a stop opposite her. His eyes scanned every inch of the bruised and broken man he towered over, taking stock of each injury, each tube, each disfigurement that refused to let him believe it was Billy in that bed fighting for his life. The shock had worn off for Victoria. She had found that the more she stared, the more she found little pieces of him that were familiar and unscathed. The pattern of freckles on his shoulder. Those funny ears that two of her children had inherited. The curve of his bottom lip. All the parts of someone you never forget once you've loved them. But watching Jack affected her, gutted her once more, and she felt the tears threaten as the hand that had just been on her shoulder inched towards Billy and hovered against his swollen cheek.

"Little brother." His jaw was quivering as he said the two words, and his eyes shone with tears of his own, tears and defeat.

"What happened, Jack?" she said, suddenly angry again. His head snapped to face her, and he looked guilty, accused. She hadn't meant it so harshly, especially knowing how Jack felt responsible for Billy, always had. She wiped the growing moisture from her eyes and softened her tone. "What happened?" she repeated. "I thought we were over the worst. So, how did this happen? How did any of this happen?"

He sat in response, in the other chair that flanked the hospital bed and studied his hands as he considered the weight of what she was asking. There was no answer really. They both knew that. "Life," he offered simply with an apologetic smile. "And my brother, he can be his own worst enemy."

Victoria forced a half smile in return and let the heels of her boots slide to the floor. She leaned forward and touched Billy again, on his hand, one finger slipping between his to find the secret black mark she had discovered earlier. His skin was warm. She needed to feel that warmth, needed more proof than just beeping to let her know he was there.

"Do you think I let him down?"

"No, Victoria. You did nothing wrong."

"I could have forgiven him," she whispered. "If I had forgiven him, we wouldn't be here right now."

"You don't know that." Jack's voice was stern but loving. He leaned forward too, using the closeness to demand she pay attention to him. "Listen to me. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. If anything it's my…I'm… Look, there are things we all could've have handled differently. But right now, we just have to focus on getting him better."

"But what if he doesn't, Jack? What if he doesn't get better this time?"

"He will. He has to."

"Look at him," she cried. "How is he going to survive this?"

"Love." She heard the word between her own sobs. Jack was looking at her, at them, his eyes glued to the spot where her hand and Billy's intertwined. "Love is the balm that heals all wounds."

"You really believe that?"

"I have to believe that. Besides," he smiled, "you're here. That's all the proof I need."

She turned away from his stare and pulled her hand from Billy's. What he said struck a nerve, opened an old would and consequently reminded her of another. "Has, um, has anyone called Ch-Chelsea?"

His brow furrowed in surprise and confusion, and his mouth hung open, unable to form words.

"She should know, Jack. As much as…I would want to know."

"She knows," he finally said.

"Oh." Victoria cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, nervously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear

"She's not coming." Jack seemed to have read her mind, and she shot him a look relief and gratitude that didn't last long.

"What? W-why not? I…I thought they…"

"It's a long story." He pressed the palms of his hands together, the fingertips of each hand tapping against each other anxiously. She could tell he'd rather not say anything else, but her glare required more, and he gave it unwillingly. "She's with someone else."

"Someone else? Who? When did this happen?"

"Gabriel Bingham. It's recent. A few days."

"Gabriel Bingham? Nick's friend from boarding school? But she never said anything. I called looking for him, Jack, and she never mentioned it. Oh God. Is this-is this why…do you think he was trying to hurt himself?"

"No." His voice boomed, startling her. "He wouldn't do that."

"He left a note," she seethed back. "Why else would he leave a note?"

"Because he loves you. I imagine that's what the note is about. Look at me. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to Katie or Johnny. Or you. You know that. Trust it."

She couldn't breathe, not even when the ventilator reminded her. She knew in her gut Jack was right. She knew that what she was suggesting wasn't who Billy was, but she couldn't trust anything right now, not even her gut. Not even Jack who clearly knew more than he was telling. She needed him to come clean with her, but before she could interrogate him, the door clicked open behind her once again. She expected to see the nurse who came every hour to check on Billy and to suction around the tube taped down at his mouth, but it was Jill standing there in the doorway instead, looking as tired as she felt.

"Any change?" Jill asked, ignoring the tension she had walked in on except for lengthy stares at both Victoria and Jack.

"No," Victoria answered quickly and stood. Over Jack's shoulder the first light of day shone through the oversized window soft and gray. It was morning already. She had been there for hours. The kids would be up soon, and she would have to figure out something to tell Johnny about his daddy.

"Victoria, honey," Jill said, approaching her. "I know you probably don't want to leave, but the police officers are still here. They've talked to everyone else, and they'd like a word with you too."

"I don't know anything, Jill. I haven't talked to him in days."

"None of us have," her former mother-in-law confessed. There was shame and guilt in her voice that resonated with Victoria despite the differences in their circumstances. Jill sucked back her failures with a smile and placed a comforting hand on Victoria's shoulder. "But they still want to talk to you. Who knows, you might be able to tell them something that will help."

Jill was right. She didn't want to leave Billy or the beeping. Imagining what was going on was always worse than being there, seeing for yourself. But she would have to leave him sooner or later.

"We'll come get you if there's any change," Jack added.

"Ok," she finally conceded and grabbed her purse from the floor before she could change her mind. The door swung open just as she reached for the handle, and Dr. Walker breezed in, nearly knocking her over."

"Sorry," he said without making eye contact. He carried a folder in his hand and flipped it open as he took stock of the room. "I'm glad you're all here. There's something I need to discuss with you."

"Has there been a change in his condition?" Jill spoke in equal parts hope and fear, her hand clutched over her heart.

"No. It isn't about his condition. Not directly about his condition"

"Then can it wait?" Victoria huffed. "I need to give my statement to the police and call home."

Dr. Walker finally acknowledged her with the same confused look from last night. She knew what he was thinking. She was just the ex-wife. What power did she have? And he was right.

"If it can wait, Doctor," Jack said as he stood, rescuing her enough to make her forget he was keeping something from her, "we'd prefer Victoria to be here for all updates."

Defeated, the man in charge of keeping Billy alive closed the folder and opened the door. "Fine. But we can't put if off for long" he warned.

* * *

Victoria saw one of the officers, the taller one from last night, as soon as she walked through the ICU doors. His back was to her, a cell phone pressed to his ear, and she used the opportunity to slip down an empty hallway. Sure she was alone, she dug her own phone from the bottom of her purse. She would talk to the officer, later, but there was something more important she had to do first. She had one missed call and several texts when she turned her phone back on. Most of them were from Ben. She'd left without telling him where she was going, without telling him she was leaving at all. She should have felt bad about it, but she didn't. She would call him later and explain everything, she decided as her finger searched out another number.

"Mom," she said as soon as the ringing stopped.

"Victoria?" her mother said. Her voice was groggy and laced with concern. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"I didn't wake you, did I? I know it's early…"

"No, no it's fine. Your father tossed and turned all night, so I've been up for a while. What's wrong? I can hear in your voice something's wrong. Is it the kids?"

"It's Billy," she blurted and bit her lip hard to control the tears that started again. "There was an accident."

"An accident? Is he okay?"

"No. He's not okay, Mom.. He's at the hospital. He-he might not make it."

"Is he at Memorial? I'll be right there."

"No. no." She sniffed back the emotion and stiffened her spine, stretching the ache out of her lower back. She liked the idea of falling apart in her mother's arms, crying to her about the man she had loved, still loved, and the impossible possibility of losing him. But she couldn't. She had to be strong. "I, um, I need you to do something else. Hannah's with the kids, but I don't know how long I'll be here and—"

"You don't have to say another word. I'll take care of everything."

"Thank you," she breathed. "Katie should have enough bottles to last all day, and I'll, um, I'll figure something out later."

"We'll be fine," Nikki assured her.

They were the words she needed to hear, the words she knew she would hear from her mother. She felt the relief right away. It was one less thing to worry about, one less obstacle keeping her from getting back to that room. The last obstacle was waiting for her when she rounded the corner. He looked up right away and smiled, tipping his officer's hat as she approached.

"Ms. Newman."

"Victoria. Please."

"Officer Shaw," he said and shook her hand before leading her inside a small waiting room. The room was empty, and he motioned for her to take her pick of the couch or one of four chairs. She shook her head at both, preferring to stand after sitting for so long. He sat, though, in one of the chairs opposite her and rested his notepad on one knee.

"I just have a few questions for you."

"Sure, but I don't really know anything. Billy and I are divorced, and I haven't seen him since the 14th."

"Huh. Most people don't see their exes on Valentine's Day."

"He came by to see our kids. We have a son and a new baby. A little girl." She saw the puzzled, amused look that flashed across his face, but ignored it as she continued. "It was also his daughter's birthday. Delia. She was, um, she passed away after a hit-and-run about a year and a half ago."

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I imagine it was a tough day for him then. Was his mood or attitude different than normal?"

Victoria sighed and shook her head "no." But even as she did it, she questioned it. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to remember that day, what he wore, if it was sunny, anything she could. That day was the last time she saw him. That day might be the last time she would ever see him again, as himself and not in a hospital bed. She had to remember, not for any officer, but for herself. "I mean, he played with kids like normal. Wrestled with Johnny. Put Katie down for her nap. He was sad, though. A little sad. I'm sure he was thinking about Delia. Missing her."

"Did he say that?"

"He didn't have to. He's always thinking about her." A smile eased across her face as her eyes fluttered open. She saw him, plain as day, sitting on their couch, surrounded by mountain of toys he and Johnny had dragged from the playroom. The sun was shining across his face, and they were laughing "We talked about her, that day. About what we would have gotten her this year. What kind of party she would have wanted. How much ice cream she would have eaten. She loved ice cream. Maybe more than me."

The officer was smiling with her, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable and had to cross the room for distance.

"Did he have any plans for the day?"

"I imagine he was going to see Delia. At her grave or maybe the spot where she was hit. He does that. He doesn't think I know."

"And after that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was stale, but still hot. "I told him he could have the kids later, but he has a…a girlfriend. Or had a girlfriend rather. They may have had plans."

"Had?"

"Yeah, Jack, his brother, says they broke up or something."

Officer Shaw stopped writing and flipped back through the pages in his notebook, his finger scrolling through lines of scribble that he read back to her. "Chelsea Lawson, right? And her husband… her husband was the one who hit your stepdaughter?"

"Adam." She spit his name into the air like venom. "You know it's funny. Adam died in a crash last year. And now Billy…" She stopped herself and took another long sip from the Styrofoam cup. Adam's name burned in her brain, burned in pencil marks on crumpled paper folded in her back pocket. "He couldn't get over it," she said and pulled the note out, waving it in the air as proof. "What Adam did to DeeDee. What he blames him for doing to us."

"Do you mind if I take that?" he asked. "I'd like to test it for prints, DNA. I was going to ask last night, but…you seemed to need it."

"Sure." She tossed what was left of her coffee in the trash and walked towards him, dropping the last piece of Billy she had into his lap. "Maybe it'll make more sense to you then it did to me."

"I'll get it back to you when I'm done." He stood and she knew the interview or interrogation, whatever it was, was over. Only when he headed for the door did she regret giving him the note. She thought about asking to see it one more time, memorize every word, but she didn't and it floated away from her in the hands of a stranger before she could hardly process the loss.

* * *

"Okay. I'm back," Victoria announced as she entered Billy's hospital room. Jack was the only one with him. He'd taken his jacket off and sat beside his brother with his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. His face was red with anger or passion, almost as red as Billy's injured face. When he saw her, he sat up straight, caught, trapped with nowhere to go. Not without answering her first.

"What's going on, Jack?"

He opened his mouth to speak or lie, but the click of the door saved him.

"Good. You're both here." Dr. Walker held the door until Jill had entered and taken a seat. Jack remained where he was, while Victoria once again stood. That seemed like an error in judgment as soon as the man in the white coat opened his mouth. "We had hoped Billy would be awake by now and this wouldn't be an issue."

"What does that mean?" Jill asked. "I thought you said this wasn't about his condition."

"It isn't. As I said last night, Billy was brought in as a John Doe. All treatment given to him was prior to any knowledge of his medical past or preferences. We didn't have his records to consult. Our mission was to save his life."

"And you did that , Doctor," Jack said. "We're grateful for the care you've given my brother, and I think I speak for everyone here when I say we are prepared to see this through. He'll have whatever treatment you prescribe. The best care. For as long as it takes."

"No you won't." All eyes turned to the physician, the healer. His face was stoic, unapologetic for his bluntness. "It isn't your choice. Billy has a living will. That's what I need to discuss with you."

"What does that mean?" Jill asked for all of them.

"He has a signed legal document stating he wants no heroic measures. He does not want prolonged life support. He does not want to be a vegetable."

"No." Jill pushed herself from the chair, her heartbreak written all over her face. "He must have done it after Delia died. He was so distraught. It can't be legal. It can't be legal to sign anything in that condition."

"It's dated 2010. October. It is legal, and I have to honor it. He was very specific about his wishes. I'm sorry, but if his condition doesn't change, if he doesn't wake up or become able to breathe on his own, we will have to take him off the ventilator."

"But he'll DIE," Jill screamed. Jack rushed to her side, catching her before she collapsed. Victoria watched like a stranger, like it was a movie she hadn't chosen and couldn't end.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Walker said again, and this time he seemed to mean it.

"No," Jill said again and rushed at him. "I don't accept this. I won't. We'll fight it. I'll get Michael to file an injunction or something. He is not going to die."

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Sigh._

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Exhale._

The room was spinning. And cold. She tried to hear the beeping, but it was muffled. Through a tunnel she heard Jill say she was going to call Michael. She saw them leave. Jack. Jill. The doctor. Until she was alone. Alone with Billy and the beeping.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Sigh._

_Don't ever die._

She remembered that October as well as any. Daniel's art show. The vintage wedding ring he slipped on her finger. _Father Knows Best. _Thongs and twin beds. Murphy and Katherine.

_Don't ever die._

She looked at him, a lump in a bed. Lifeless. Disfigured. She hated him.

"You don't get to do this," she whispered. And then she rushed at him, her face up against his so close she saw the purple hues of the bruises beneath the surface. "You don't fucking get to do this. You don't get to leave me again. You don't get to make me fall in love with you so hard and then break my heart so hard and then leave me. Again. And again. And again. How could you? How could you do this, Billy? If you die, I will never forgive you. I will hate you for the rest of my life. I promise you that."

She backed away trembling with anger. Her eyes landed on all the familiar spots. The freckles. His ears. The bottom curve of his lip. All that was left of his tattoo. "You don't get to do this," she said again and grabbed her purse and coat. "I get to leave this time. I do."

Her heels clicked loud down the hall. She didn't try to quiet them. The patients she passed last night were still there in their glass display boxes, their tubes and machines still keeping them alive, their loved ones no longer in makeshift beds, but by their sides, another day of keeping vigil. Victoria marched passed them blindly, her sole focus the doors she had to push a button to exit. Through them, she bee lined for the elevator, past concerned, confused eyes. Jill called her name as she pushed her way inside the elevator. She called it again as Victoria punched the button for the ground floor over and over again. Victoria didn't hear her. She didn't hear anything until the final doors opened and the shrill beeping of a car alarm greeted her as the frigid February air seized in her lungs.


	3. Chapter 3

Balm

Chapter 3

Victoria took the long way home. Long only because she circled Genoa City three times at the height of rush-hour traffic, weaving her car aimlessly through congested streets, avoiding only the ones that would take her home. It was a new feeling for her, pleasant almost, the relief at being stuck in traffic, trapped between lanes of unmoving cars filled with business suits and anxiety, their over-caffeinated occupants shouting into thin air, tight fists pounding steering wheels at every red light. But the red lights were the best part. Being stuck with nowhere to go. No one to answer to. No decisions or responsibilities. Nothing to do but wait, wait and focus on the road ahead and the blinking of the turn signal on the car in front of her.

_Blink. Blink. Blink._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._

_Sigh._

She couldn't escape it. No matter where she went or how lost she got, it haunted her. He haunted her and ached in her chest with every blink of red. This new throbbing pain, this ghostly heartache, it intensified the already growing discomfort in her breasts, the one that told her avoiding home was no longer an option.

But home was empty when she walked through the door, a ghost town despite her mother's car in the driveway. Everything was just as she left it hours earlier, when she had rushed out the door as Hannah walked sleepily through. The half-eaten box of animal crackers Johnny had charmed his way into was still on the couch, partially hidden by the blanket he had snuggled under while he ate. And the sales report she had been trying to read when the call came was still strewn across the coffee table, her laptop buried somewhere underneath.

Without hesitation, or thinking even, she deposited her coat and purse in a chair and went to work eliminating all the reminders that last night had ever happened. She shuffled her papers into her briefcase and returned the unearthed laptop to the desk, centering it perfectly there. The blanket she folded and placed across the back of the sofa. And just as the box of animal crackers hit the bottom of the trashcan, baby talk in the key of her mother's voice floated out from the kitchen.

"Victoria, honey?" Her mother jumped a little, and so did she, both women startled to find themselves no longer alone. "Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you were staying at the hospital."

"I was," Victoria answered with a formality usually reserved for the boardroom and quickly turned her eyes away from the concern on her mother's face, seeking out the pink bundle in her arms instead. A slow, wide smile that started from deep inside spread across her face. "There she is. There's my sweet baby."

Katie kicked her arms and legs at the sound of her own mother's voice, her big eyes lit with infant excitement. Victoria took the baby from her mother and hugged the little girl to her aching chest, inhaling the scent of a miracle until Katie fussed at the tightness. "Did you miss me this morning? Huh? I missed you."

"Wh-what are you doing here? What's happened? Is Billy…has his condition changed?"

Victoria ignored Nikki's barrage of questions and walked away while her mother still cradled air, her mouth left open in confusion and hurt. "Has she been fed?"

"Y-yes. Hannah fed her before I got here."

"Yeah? Yeah?" Victoria cooed to her daughter. "Then I bet you're hungry again, aren't you? Good. Cause Mama needs you to eat."

Victoria sat on the couch and began unbuttoning her blouse one-handed as she settled back into the cushions. The relief was almost immediate, and for one precious minute, the only thing that existed in the world was her nursing child staring up at her with eyes that twinkled more like her father's every day. How had she ever doubted it was him?

"Victoria." She felt her mother's approach rather than saw it. She felt her standing over her, hands on her hips no doubt as she waited for an explanation that Victoria wasn't ready to give. She felt bad about ignoring her mother and tried to shave some of the iciness from her tone. But that was all she could afford to give her.

"Did Johnny make it to preschool okay?"

"Yes," Nikki answered with a sigh. "He was fine. Hannah dropped him off a little while ago. She's going to pick him after lunch."

Victoria nodded without looking up, satisfied that Johnny hadn't been traumatized and grateful that she still had time to figure out something to tell him about Billy. Time. She still had time, but how much? Katie's eyes started to close, and Victoria tickled her feet to keep her awake. She needed her to eat more, to stop the pain. And she needed to come up with some combination of truth and lie to tell Johnny. And she needed her mother to just back up, to give her some space. But the woman who gave her life didn't move. She kept standing there, too close, her shadow falling across the pink elephants that covered Katie from neck to toes like a storm cloud ready to burst.

"What?" she finally snapped and looked up.

Nikki took Victoria's exasperation as an invitation and eased herself onto the opposite end of the sofa, careful not to break the eye contact she had finally been granted. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here, my love?"

"I'm feeding my daughter," she stated casually. "And then I need to shower and change and…head to the office."

"Th-the office?" Nikki stuttered through pursed lips and that same incredulous look she'd worn when Victoria first told her she and Billy were going to live together.

"Yes. The office. I have a 2 o'clock meeting."

"You can skip it."

"No. I can't. It's important."

"Sweetheart, there are plenty of people at Newman who can fill in. I'm sure your father will understand given the circum—"

"No! _I _made the commitment. I did, Mom. It's my responsibility to be there. And nowhere else." Katie wriggled and let out a stifled cry in response to the raised voices and the tenseness in her mother's body. Victoria immediately took a deep, calming breath and comforted her child with soothing pats to her bottom. "Shhh. It's okay."

"Just like your father," Nikki sighed. "Whenever anything goes wrong, whenever anybody disappoints you, it's 'Oh I have to go to the office.'"

"That's not what I'm doing?"

"Ok. Then if it's not about Billy, it's me. You came home because of me. Because you don't trust me to take care of my grandchildren. I know what happened at the christening, Victoria, it-it-it's reason to not want me around Katie, but I would-"

"No. That's not…" Victoria stopped. There was nothing she could say. She couldn't deny the accusation, but only because she hadn't considered it. Calling her mother, asking her to take care of her children had been instinctual, just as the need to be at Billy's side had been instinctual. But just thinking about that moment after Katie's christening, when her precious miracle had been in danger opened the wound to fresh fear. If Billy hadn't been there…

"Oh God," she breathed. It finally hit her, the reality she had been denying for hours, the very real possibility that Billy wouldn't be there the next time or the next. Or ever again. The tears flowed against her will, and her mother reached across the sea of empty sofa to touch her tenderly on the wrist.

"Tell me about Billy," Nikki said.

Victoria shook her head, refusing, and Katie fussed again, her belly finally full. She brought the baby to her shoulder and held the warm weight of her daughter against her aching chest. Nikki scooted closer, her eyes pleading to let her help, and Victoria knew she couldn't hold out much longer. Her mother was one of only a handful of people she couldn't avoid or lie to, one who would drag the truth from her whether she liked it or not. Another was lying in a hospital bed on life support.

"Why does it still hurt?" she finally whispered against baby fine hair.

"Because you still love him."

Nikki's eyes glistened with empathy and love and understanding, and while Katie nodded off to dreamland, Victoria unleashed almost every detail from the last few hours, from the animal crackers to the phone call, Dr. Walker and the police. She told her about the ventilator and the bruises, how everyone cried over Billy while all she could do was just sit there. And then she told her about the living will and how she had rushed out of the hospital without saying a word to anyone, anyone but the lifeless man she had vowed to hate.

"You're just scared," Nikki said once she finished.

"No. I'm furious, Mom. This thing, this living will, it's just-it's one more thing he didn't think to include me on. Another lie in our marriage. Just like with Lucy. And his gambling. Everything after Delia's death. It's like a never knew him."

"That isn't true." Nikki said. "You know, Billy isn't exactly my favorite person these days. After everything he's put you through. But he and I have a lot in common. And I saw the good times you two had. The way he made you smile." At some point during Victoria's account of the accident, she had placed Katie between them on the sofa. Nikki smiled at the living proof of what she was saying and rubbed her sleeping granddaughter's back. "I know what it's like to love someone like that. And I also know what it's like watching someone you love unconscious and not being able to help them. Not knowing what they would want."

It was always strange when someone brought up her coma, strange to know there was this whole part of her life that she didn't know about except through what others had told her. But as much as Victoria didn't like thinking about it, especially all the moments she had missed with Reed, she knew she couldn't begin to understand what her family had been through, not knowing if she or Reed would live, what decisions to make. Until now. Victoria offered a sympathetic smile and reached over to place her hand on top of her mother's so they both felt the rise and fall of baby's breath.

"No one can tell you the right thing to do in a situation like this. You just have to listen to your gut, sweetheart. But I know…" Nikki paused to take a breath as fresh tears sparkled in her eyes. She placed her free hand on Katie's back too, sandwiching Victoria's between her own. "If this is it," she started again with a clear, strong voice, "if something happens with Billy and you're not there, you'll regret it. You will. And there is no cure for that kind of regret. Believe me."

A shiver ran down Victoria's spine. But her mother's warning wasn't enough to make her race back to the hospital. Her gut wasn't reliable right now. Her gut had been leading her astray for a while, and there was just too much anger and hurt and fear still in the way to worry about regret.

* * *

She let the shower run as hot as she could stand it and stood directly under the scalding water, letting it soak her hair, plastering it against her scalp. She watched the water run down her body and turn her skin red as steam rose from the shower floor, enveloping her in a foggy cocoon. Maybe if she stayed there long enough, the water would wash away the last few hours. Or maybe the pain, the burning, would make her forget for just a little while.

It hadn't worked so far, forgetting. Billy was all she thought about during the lunch her mother had forced her to eat. Nikki had tried to keep the conversation light for both her and Katie, but all Victoria could focus on as she picked at the sandwich in front of her was Dr. Walker's grim prognosis and her mother's words about regret and love. Even now, those words echoed off the tiled walls only to be trapped in the suffocating steam, haunting her right alongside those last words she had seethed at Billy and the unshakeable image of him in that hospital bed.

At the first stinging threat of tears, Victoria turned her face up into the powerful stream of water and blindly reached for the handle she knew would turn the water cold. She gasped at the sudden icy change in temperature, but the shock did what she had intended, cured her from falling apart again. Shivering but stoic again, she grabbed her bathrobe from the hook next to the one that used to hold Billy's and escaped the steaming bathroom.

Outside her bedroom window, a light snow had started to fall. Victoria sat on the edge of her bed and, swaddled in terrycloth, began to towel-dry her hair. The hot shower hadn't made her forget about the accident or that Johnny would be home soon, but it had made her realize how tired she was. She leaned against the headboard and straightened her legs out in front of her, one arm on either side of her body, just the way Billy was at the exact same moment. She felt incredibly heavy yet light as air, floating to earth like one of the snowflakes outside the window. She only meant to close her eyes for a minute, but when a soft tap on the bedroom door roused her, she realized it might have been longer than a minute.

"Hi," her mother said softly and looked down at the wide-eyed girl she carried. "Someone's hungry again. I was going to get her a bottle, but thought you might want to feed her again."

"Yeah. Yeah," Victoria smiled and sat up, opening her arms to receive the weight of her daughter. She kissed the baby and held her out in front of her, just to stare at her for a minute. "Hi. Hi," she said to the smiling baby and then turned her eyes to her mother. "You don't have to stay, Mom. I got her."

A smile faded from Nikki's face and was replaced by a strange, questioning look Victoria remembered from earlier.

"I'm not going to work," she smiled. "Promise. I just want to spend some time alone with this one. And Johnny. When he gets home."

"Okay," Nikki conceded with a trace of disappointment that she quickly covered with a new smile. She placed a kiss on the top of Katie's head and then one on Victoria's cheek. "But you call me. If you need anything. Or…if you want to go back to the hospital."

Victoria only smiled and nodded in return, waiting until she heard the click of the front door before pulling Katie to her. The room was silent and still as the baby nursed, and once again, once she'd filled her belly, Katie dozed off in her mother's arms. Victoria dozed as well, until she heard the front door open again and the muffled stomp of little feet on the stairs. Johnny's face peered around the door frame, a full crooked grin on display. Hannah appeared behind him seconds later, apologetic, but Victoria nodded for her to go before putting a finger to her lips and motioning for Johnny to come to her. He wasted no time and took off like a rocket, landing on the bed with a bounce.

"How was school?" she whispered as he gave her a big wet kiss on the mouth and a tiny peck on his sleeping sister's arm.

"Good."

"Yeah?" He snuggled next to her, and she scooted down until their faces touched. "Your nose is cold."

Johnny laughed, loud at first and then soft, remembering the baby. "It's snowing," he said in a loud whisper.

"I know. You know, I was thinking that since tomorrow is Saturday, maybe we can call Uncle Nick. See if he wants to take you and Faith sledding at the ranch. What do you think?"

His eyes grew big, and he shook his head excitedly. "Daddy too?"

The moment she had been dreading had arrived. Still, she didn't know the right thing to say, but she let her maternal instinct take over and shifted again, careful not to wake Katie as she put her free arm around Johnny and pulled him to her.

"No, sweetheart." It was the same answer she had given him the last few days when he would come to her and ask if it was a "Daddy day." But she knew he would need more this time, and the sad blue eyes that stared back at her confirmed what she already knew. "You remember last night?"

"Is Daddy still sick?"

"Yeah. Sort of. See, he, uh, he got a boo-boo. Kind of a bad boo-boo. And he has to stay at the hospital for a little while. So the doctors and the nurses can help him get better."

"Can I go?"

She sighed and smiled apologetically at her little boy. "No, baby. Only grown ups can go. But Uncle Jack is there. And Grandma Jill. Aunt Traci. Aunt Ashley. So many people. And they're all gonna take care of Daddy and make him better. Okay?"

It was a lie. A potential lie anyway, but Johnny accepted it, his almost 3-year-old heart willing to believe whatever she told him, his age turning a complicated, devastating matter into only a moment's worth of worry. He relaxed against her, and she stroked his hair as his eyes grew heavy just as Katie's had. Billy clearly wasn't on his mind anymore, and soon, she was the only one of three awake in the bed.

The bed. This bed. Their bed, though she had let another share it.

This was where they'd spent their first night together as husband and wife. Their first legal night. It was where they celebrated their first pregnancy. And grieved the loss of it. Where they'd made Katie.

So many promises they'd made in that bed, in their marriage. And too many broken. To love and cherish. In sickness and in health. Til death.

Then there was the last promise she made to him. The one at the hospital, the one where she vowed to hate him forever if he died.

If he died.

If he died, that would be the last promise she would ever make to him and possibly the only one either would ever keep. And that would be how their story ended. That would be the legacy she would have to pass on to the two beautiful sleeping babies in her arms.

Her gut revolted, suddenly clear, suddenly strong, suddenly determined.

* * *

Traci was the only one in with Billy when she got there. She had been the only one missing from the gathering of Abbots and Fenmores she passed in the waiting room, all lounging with worry and fatigue like a still life of an American tragedy, a modern Norman Rockwell painting. They'd seen Victoria approach, her head down with fear of being rejected, but Jack, it was always Jack, who stepped forward and smiled and motioned her towards the double doors.

"Go on," he mouthed, and the others agreed with understanding smiles.

She was glad it was Traci in with him, for her sake and Billy's. Traci knew more than most about sadness and loss and forgiveness, and yet, there she was, a sweet smile on her face as she spoke to Billy, a book in her hands as she sat next to her brother.

"You're back," she said when Victoria walked through the doors and then instantly leaned towards Billy and whispered, "She came back."

"Yeah," Victoria answered with a bashful grin and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Traci stood, and they hugged. She felt the hardness of the book press against her lower back and the straps of the bags she carried slide from her shoulder and land in the bend of her elbow. "You reading to him?"

Traci pulled away, and both women wiped at their eyes. "Yes. I think it's good for him. To hear voices and know we're all here waiting for him to come back to us. I talked to Colleen all the time when she was…"

"I'm sorry, Traci. This must be really hard on you."

"This," she exhaled and placed the palm of her hand against Victoria's cheek, "isn't easy for any of us, Victoria. But we have to have hope. We have to have hope."

Victoria nodded and forced a smile. "My mom said the same thing. About the reading. She and my dad, they read to me when I was in a coma. They think it helped."

Traci laughed and hugged the book to her chest, but when she noticed Victoria's eyes drifting toward the hospital bed, she placed it in the seat of the chair she had been sitting in and gave Billy's hand a quick, gentle squeeze. "I'll give you two some time alone."

Traci was gone before Victoria could think to say 'thank you.' But she was glad to have a few minutes. She pulled the straps of the bags she carried back up to her shoulders and then hoisted them onto the end of the bed. Her purse she dropped to the floor and tucked underneath the chair, and the smaller of the other two bags she hung in the little closet by the door with her coat. The other bag she left on the bed and stood over it, watching him while the machines beeped around them. She didn't focus on the beeping this time, though; her focus was on Billy.

"Hi," she finally said. He didn't respond, not that she expected him to. "I, um, I brought you some things. I know how you hate hospitals. It's not scotch or anything, but, um…"

She unzipped the bag and pulled out the stack of framed pictures she had carefully packed on top. One was of Delia. Another of Reed. There was one of Johnny and a new one of Katie he had never seen. She placed them around the room in spots where he would see them the minute he woke up.

Next, Victoria pulled a folded square of chenille from the bag and brought it to her nose. Two hours ago, after she'd maneuvered herself out from under her sleeping children and surrounded them with pillows, she'd covered them with the blanket she now spread across Billy's legs. "Sorry it's pink, but it smells like the kids. Like home."

There was one more thing she needed to pull from the bag, and she smiled when she saw the green tail waiting for her. "Johnny insisted I bring it," she laughed and sat the dinosaur Delia had given her brother on his first birthday next to Billy. He had carried it downstairs when Nick arrived to pick them up for a sleepover. She had thought it was a last minute addition to the bagful of toys he was taking, but he had struggled to stuff it in her bag instead. "He said to give you a kiss, too."

She hesitated and then leaned down, pushing his hair back before placing the softest kiss on his forehead. Her lips lingered, and she kissed him a second time. "That's from Katherine Rose."

She didn't linger after the second kiss. She stood straight up and removed the nearly empty bag from the bed. Then she picked up the book Traci had left and sat it on the bedside table next to the phone before scooting the chair closer to the bed and sitting. She needed to be as close to him as possible, needed to see his face as she spoke.

"I'm angry with you," she said. "I've been angry with you for a long time now. And I haven't really been honest about it. I need to be honest now though."

She picked up his hand, mindful of his injuries, and placed it in hers. Her eyes went to his ring finger automatically, searching again for that little piece of her still there. "I remember that night, you know. The night Murphy was in the hospital, and Katherine was faced with having to decide whether or not to put him on life support. That's why you did it, isn't it? The living will? Because of that. Because of me. And what you went through with your dad. That's the funny part, see? I get it. I get why you did it. I just don't know why you didn't tell me. I would have supported your decision. I always tried to support your decisions. Don't you know that?"

She started to cry, and she didn't want to cry because there was more she needed to say, more she had promised herself she would say.

"I remember other things about that night, too, Billy. I remember Daniel's art show and the rings. I remember finding you in the chapel and asking you to go home with me. We had TV dinners and watched Father Knows Best. Do you remember that? You said your favorite episode was the one where Jim and Margaret made a baby, and I told you there was no such episode."

Victoria closed her eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks as in her mind she saw him in those silly glasses, leaning towards her for a kiss. She remembered his response clear as day.

_There will be. Trust Me. And it will be perfect. _

"You never gave up. You were convinced we would have a baby, and now we do. We have two. Two perfect babies, and they need you, Billy. They need you, and I need you to be there for them. So, I am telling you right now, you are going to wake up, and you are going to get better. There is no other option."

"And until you do, until you walk out of here," she added with a sniffle, "I want you to know that I'm all in. I'm all in, Billy."

Victoria slipped her fingers between his and curled her legs up into the chair. She was there for the night. She had a plan, a goal, and her children were taken care of. That's all she thought about as she told Billy story after story about the kids. And that's why she didn't see the dark figure pass by his room, stopping for a minute to watch them before moving on.

* * *

He heard a noise, a door opening somewhere above him. Or maybe it was below him. He was coming back, the devil incarnate was coming back. Billy tried to sit up and brace himself despite the pain in his head and his arm, everywhere. But he couldn't move. He couldn't fight.

It didn't matter. No one came anyway. No one was ever coming for him. This was the end. He knew that.

It was cold. So cold, but on his forehead he felt a drop of warmth. And then another. The sun must have come up again, shining through the small, dirty rectangle above him. How many was that now? 4. No, 5. When was DeeDee's birthday? Maybe it was longer. He couldn't remember, but the warmth felt good.

He heard the noise again, but it wasn't a door. It was a beeping. Where was the beeping coming from? The car. The car door was open, and it was beeping. That's right. He was free. He escaped and he was going home. But the car. It crashed. And the devil wasn't inside this time. He was outside in the snow.

His head hurt worse. The pain was too much, and his mouth was dry. He couldn't call for help. There was no one. No one but her.

He saw her face appear through the snowflakes, her blue eyes, her pink lips that hid that little space between her teeth. She was standing over him. And then she took his hand.

That's right. That's how this ends. With Victoria. Your face will be the last one I see, Victoria.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay. Been super busy, but I will try to get 5 finished sooner. Glad to hear from some of you who are enjoying my little story. I know it's super bleak right now, but that will change.

i haven't been a regular Y&amp;R viewer for awhile. I average 10-15 minutes most weeks. ㈵3 But (to whoever commented last), I did catch the doctor talking about living wills with Phyllis. Heroic measures? Really? He's not hooked up to anything, just like I troika never was when she was in a coma. Crazy stupid! I fully admit all of my medical knowledge comes from Google, Youtube, and the good seasons of E.R. If you can't even do that, don't try! Glad I wasn't the only one who caught that!

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4

She must have fallen asleep at some point during the night, the second of an undetermined number of nights she would probably spend in the ICU. Victoria felt herself drowsy and weightless, hammocked in the grayness that separates rest from reality. The need for more sleep tugged at her, begging her to come back, but so did the warm daylight pressing against her eyelids and the beeping that had followed her into her dreams, anchoring her to real life so that she never fully rested. The beeping became clearer as her face became warmer, each beep bringing her closer to the surface, reminding her where she was.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Billy. Hospital. Accident.

But the more awake she became, the more she realized something wasn't right. The beeping was different. It was too fast. Alarming. Raging. It was calling for help like a panicked mother with a missing child.

Victoria was frantic before she was awake, stumbling and fighting her way out of the two chairs that served as a makeshift bed before her eyes were even fully open. The first blurry image she saw was Billy, in his hospital bed, calm and lifeless, his swollen, bruised eyes still closed on the world, his lower half still blanketed in pink chenille. But across from her, the machine connected to Billy by a long hose continued to yell, angry and hysterical, and her heart sped up to match its pace. This wasn't a dream or part of a nightmare. He was in trouble.

"Billy?" she pleaded, her shaking hand hesitant to touch him. "Billy, please."

Her eyes searched the room for help, but they were alone. There was no one to send for a doctor or a nurse. Quickly she found the call button and pressed it over and over again, but no one responded. She looked towards the door next. She knew she had to get someone, but her feet, still tangled in a blanket she didn't remember, wouldn't move. She was trapped again between two worlds, needing to get help but finding it impossible to leave him. And greater than either was the fear that this was it. That this was the end.

"Somebody!" she called out from his bedside. "We need help in here. He needs help." She lowered her head to Billy's and her hand still shaking, but no longer hesitant landed gently on his arm. "Hang on," she whispered. "Please hang on. Help is on the way."

The promise had only just left her lips when the door opened and a nurse strolled through, her neat ponytail bouncing in time with her casual strides. It was the same nurse in aqua scrubs from the first night, but despite the chaos in the room, there was no hurry or panic in her step or her face.

"Please," Victoria begged, her feet finally moving towards the nurse, her desperation attempting to pull her towards Billy before a tight grip on her arm could. "Something's wrong,"

"Oh, no," the nurse apologized, unmoved. "It's just the ventilator. It does that all the time. It's completely normal." She slipped her arm free from Victoria's loosened grip and rounded the bed to the machine, but before she even touched it, the manic beeping stopped and the only sound in the room was the normal, steady rhythm she was used to. "See," she smiled, "it usually fixes itself. It's just adjusting to a change in the pressure in his lungs. Nothing to worry about."

Victoria was frozen in place by the sudden relief, but a few deep breaths later and her pulse returned to its normal rate. She nodded then, when she could move, both her gratitude and her understanding that all was okay, but the nurse had moved on, turning her attention to Billy. While she went about her routine of checking his vitals and suctioning around the tube in his mouth, Victoria went to work dismantling her makeshift bed. But as she folded the blanket and squeaked the chairs back where they belonged, she kept her eye on the nurse's movements, hoping to read something in her face. She was professional and confident in her work, gentle yet efficient. And she talked to Billy as she worked, explaining what she was doing as if he could hear her. Or maybe that was for Victoria's benefit. Either way it was comforting, seeing someone else at least pretend he was still with them.

"How's he doing?" Victoria asked when her bed was put away. "Other than scaring me to death, I mean."

The nurse smiled at Victoria's attempt at humor, revealing deep dimples that made her seem younger than she was. She was young, though, probably still in her twenties. "Not a lot of change," she admitted without looking up, her hand busy writing in the chart that rested against her stomach. "But his heart rate is pretty good. Blood pressure's okay. He has a bit of a temp, so we'll keep an eye on that. His lungs look a little better," she added and looked up. "Now we just need him to wake up."

"That's good. That's good, right? About his lungs." As much as she was trying to focus on the positive, on getting him better, the living will was a part of every thought, tingeing even good news with unease.

"It's not bad," the nurse smiled again.

"Thank you," Victoria sighed. "It's hard not knowing what's going on. And it seems the doctor is never around."

"Dr. Walker was just in here an hour ago."

"Wh-he was?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Oh. I must have…I must have been asleep." As much as the thought of Dr. Walker slinking in and out of hospital rooms in the wee hours of the morning made her uncomfortable, it pissed her off even more. They hadn't been given an update since yesterday morning. "Did he say anything? About Billy's condition?"

"No. But looks like he's scheduled some tests for this morning. A brain scan. That should tell us more. And I'm sure he plans on filling the family in soon. When he knows something."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Victoria mumbled unconvinced. Her run-ins with Dr. Walker had been few so far, but she was already certain his bedside manner was not his finest quality. She only hoped his healing skills were better. Otherwise, she would demand someone else.

Her growing contempt for the doctor didn't go unnoticed, and the nurse quickly averted her eyes from Victoria's to lesson the tension. "Hey, what's this?" she chirped and reached strategically across Billy to grab a small, flat jar from the little table beside his bed. She held it up so Victoria could read the handwritten word she already knew was on it. "Balm?"

"Oh, sorry. That's um, I was going to ask about that. I brought it last night with some other things."

"Aw. Sweet pictures." She spent a few seconds admiring each one of their children and then gestured towards the little jar. When Victoria nodded her okay, she twisted it open and brought it to her nose.

"It's a new product my lab is working on," Victoria explained. "It's good for scars and any skin blemish really. I used it all during my last pregnancy and not a stretch mark in sight. I was going to see if it's okay to use on his cuts. He's kind of vain about his looks." She laughed and then quickly added. "It's all natural."

"Sure," the nurse said, her dimples making a second appearance as she returned the jar to where she got it and headed towards the door with her clipboard. "It'll be good for him. Having the physical contact from someone who loves him."

Victoria felt a familiar ache in her chest, and she knew from experience it wasn't all prompted by the nurse's unknowing choice of words. She folded an arm across her breasts to lessen the pressure some.

"You know that couch folds out," she heard behind her. "No need to sleep in a chair."

"I don't mind the chairs," Victoria replied without turning around. "I want to be close. In case…"

"I get it. Let me know if you need anything."

"Oh, nur." Victoria spun around to see the young woman poised to open the door. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Diana," she smiled and then added apologetically, "My mother is obsessed with the royal family.

"Diana," Victoria repeated with a smile, "is there a…a nursing room or something anywhere? I'm breastfeeding."

"Sure thing."

Diana pulled the heavy door open and held it, waiting for Victoria to join her. "Hey. I'll be back soon," she whispered to Billy and slipped her hand into his, squeezing it briefly before turning to grab what she needed and then followed the aqua scrubs and bouncing ponytail down the hall.

The unused conference room was just down the hall, the nurse had said. She would have to pass the waiting room to get there, and as she approached it she saw Jack slumped over in a chair, staring intensely at his phone. He was the only one there, and Victoria hesitated at the door, debating whether to enter or walk right by as if she hadn't seen him. For Billy, she finally crossed the threshold.

"Jack?"

"Victoria." He stood, but his back remained bent and his phone dangled loose in his grip. "Has something happened?"

"No. No," she reassured him, and his back straightened into its normal regal form. She didn't mention the scare from earlier to him. Or that Dr. Walker had been by and failed to leave an update. "Nothing's changed. I, um, I just need to check in with the kids, and they're sending him for tests soon. I don't want to leave him alone."

"No, yeah," Jack nodded. "I'll go. Sit with him."

"Thank you," she said quietly and readjusted the strap of the small black bag that kept slipping from her shoulder. They stood there awkwardly, neither having forgotten Victoria's accusation from the day before. "So where is everybody else?"

Her pleasantry caught Jack off guard, and he stood with his mouth open for a few minutes, words that were never spoken forming on his lips over and over again. "I, uh, I sent them home. To get some rest. Freshen up."

"You should too," she said and smiled softly at the 2-day-old stubble that dusted his face and the wrinkled suit that was so unlike him. She recognized it was the same suit he had worn the night they were all summoned to the hospital. As far as Victoria knew, he hadn't left the hospital since.

"I will," he promised, returning her smile.

"Look, Jack. About yesterday."

"No. You were right," he interrupted, his face growing solemn again, solemn and pained. "I could've done more. Should've."

"I don't want to fight, Jack. Not now. Billy needs to get better. And he needs all of us on his side to do that. There'll be plenty of time to sort out the details and divide the blame once he's recovered."

He nodded, his eyes glistening with tears and his voice cracking as he spoke. "I'll never, I'll never forgive myself if he…"

"He will, Jack. He will get better." The strength in her voice was a front, a disguise intended to convince herself as much as Jack. If she kept saying it, if they all kept saying it, it would have to be true.

The empty conference room was cozy and comfortable and far enough away from the ICU to provide Victoria a moment of relief, but still close enough just in case. The kids were eating breakfast at the tack house when she called, and Nick positioned an iPad on the table so she could watch them as they ate and she filled empty bottles. Faith and Noah and Summer were all there, too. Johnny was laughing and grinning right along with his cousins, his mind obviously not on his father, and for that she was grateful to her brother. He was excited about going sledding after breakfast and told her that "KayKay," who was nestled like a football in Nick's arm, was too little to go and had to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. After promising to see them later, she ended the call and placed another to her other baby. Reed knew nothing about Billy's accident, and she needed to make sure J.T. kept it that way.

Refreshed and refocused after seeing and talking to her children, Victoria left her makeshift nursing room and headed back down the hall, back to Billy. As she passed the elevators, she was stopped by the sound of her name.

"Victoria," the voice called again, and she turned to see Ben waving at her from the nurses' station, a smile on his face that soon faded into uncertainty. She felt horrible. It had been two days since she'd seen him. She hadn't even told him her plans last night, and standing there with a brown paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, he seemed like a stranger to her. Like it was a year ago and he was just the doctor who had helped her with Johnny's rash and who had treated Billy after the accident and then again. Not the man that just two weeks ago she had asked to move in with her.

"Hey," she said with an apologetic smile as he approached her. He kissed her, and she let him, though it was awkward. She knew he felt it, too. But then he hugged her, the paper bag crinkling against her knotted back, and that felt better. It felt nice to release the weight of the past 36 hours against someone strong, sturdy, and uninvolved. Except he wasn't really uninvolved, she reminded herself. "I'm sorry. That I haven't called you or…anything."

He didn't respond, but pulled away from her, and together they walked towards the waiting room. "How's he doing?"

"Still critical. Still on a ventilator. And the doctor, he won't tell us anything." She realized the insensitivity of her remark only after she'd said it. The loss of his medical license was still a source of pain for him. "Sorry,' she apologized for the second time in less than two minutes and then sighed loudly. "It's just…I'm just a little…his ventilator went off earlier and scared me. I thought…"

"Hey. It's okay. It's fine. Those things do that all the time."

"Yeah, that's what the nurse said."

"I, uh, I talked to Ashley," Ben started when neither could take the silence that filled the waiting room. "I'm taking care of things at Jabot," he explained, "until, um, until…She told me about the living will."

She turned her back to him and buried her hands in her tangled hair, pushing it off her face so tight it hurt.

"I'm sure he'll pull through," Ben added softly, his feet shuffling closer to her. "I remember he's a fighter. And he has a good support system. Lot of family."

His last comment struck a nerve, seemed to imply something he wasn't saying, but Victoria chalked it up to lack of sleep and stress on her part. She turned back around and placed a palm of gratitude against the lapel of his winter coat. He was still a doctor in many ways, and for that reason, his reassurance meant more to her.  
He looked down at her hand on him, and his mouth straightened into a firm line that should have warned her what was coming next. "So are you going to be staying here?"

"I have to," she whispered and met his eyes. She felt his retreat without moving and let her hand slip back down to her side. "You understand, don't you?"

"Yeah," he spat out. "I get it, Victoria."

"Ben," she coaxed. "You would do the same if it was your child's mother. Wouldn't you?"

He didn't answer her, and she wasn't sure if it was because he knew she was right or if it was a powerplay, his way of taking control of the conversation. And the situation. He cleared his throat after a while and forced a pleasant smile. "I don't feel right staying at your house, so I'll be at my place until…until we figure things out."

"Ben," she pleaded again and half-laughed in disbelief. "This doesn't mean anything for us. This is just something I have to do. For my kids."

He nodded, unconvincingly and held the paper bag out to her, creating a physical barrier between them. "I brought you something to eat. Too late for breakfast I guess. An early lunch maybe. Didn't figure you were taking care of yourself."

She accepted it, the coffee, too, when he handed it next. "Thank you," she said. It was truly the only thing left to say. "For taking care of me. And for, for understanding. I'm gonna make it up to you. I promise."

She initiated the hug this time and kissed him despite the coldness. It felt wrong, like an obligation at best, but he let her and it was all she had to give.

"I gotta get going," he said abruptly and pulled away from her. "Got some things to do at the lab."

"But it's Saturday," she smiled. "You can stay."

"Naw, I got some things to catch up on." He was already backing out the door, and she held her smile until he was out of sight. He would be okay. They would be okay, she told herself. When everything was settled with Billy, things would go back to normal.

The coffee he brought her was good, still hot, and she took a long sip before heading back to the nurses' station. One of the nurses there told her what she had assumed, that Billy was still having tests done, and not wanting to go back to that room and not see him there and not wanting to sit and contemplate another potentially failed relationship, she just started walking. She must have walked every corridor of the eighth floor at least three times, circling the perimeter over and over again, memorizing every detail of this new existence. She passed patients worse off than Billy, which was hard to believe, and others who were being wheeled to their release. She stopped a while in the atrium and watched a new round of snow fall from a gray sky. It made her feel cold, but at peace and reaffirmed her decision to be here and see Billy through his crisis despite her own doubts and the reality of their relationship.

When she'd had her fill of snow, Victoria made her way back to the waiting room. Billy still wasn't back yet, and none of the Abbots had returned either. Jack, too, was MIA. But her stomach rumbled, and remembering the paper bag Ben had brought her, she opened it and smiled at the contents. There was an apple and a sandwich and on the bottom, a huge powdered doughnut. She ate the apple and part of the sandwich and then stuck her hand in to retrieve the doughnut. As she did, she sensed movement behind her and felt eyes at her back.

Turning her head to the side, she saw a face that triggered a memory, with a name she couldn't recall. He was tall and muscular, his arms folded across his chest, not in the way she did it as armor, but because it seemed the natural and only comfortable place for arms so big.

"I'm sorry," she said and blushed, her hand still inside the bag.

"Harding," the bulky stranger said and lowered his arms to reveal a shiny badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt. "Detective Harding."

"That's right. I remember you from the hostage…." She stopped there, not wanting to recall the rest of that night when she had managed to find a little bit of zen amidst this new catastrophe.

"Eh. That's better than most women," he quipped, with a shrug of his shoulders. There was just enough honesty in his voice to concern her, though.

"Victoria Newman." She stood and rather than extend a sugar-covered hand, pulled the entire doughnut from the bag and offered that instead. "Doughnut?"

His eyes narrowed at her, his brow furrowed in what could only be anger, and she suddenly felt nervous and very, very confused. "You know that stereotype is extremely hurtful, ma'am. Extremely hurtful," he said in a gruff voice, but then his faced cracked into a huge smile and he reached towards her and in a single flick of the wrist, broke off half the doughnut and shoved half of it into his mouth. "Just kidding. Powdered. My favorite."

She wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but she found herself laughing right along with him. At his urging, she took a small, proper bite of the half he had left her, while he finished his half off in two bites and then wiped his hand on his jeans. Normally, his caveman-like behavior would have offended her, disgusted her at best, but not today. Today, the overabundance of testosterone was a welcome distraction.

"I know who you are," he said through a mouthful of doughnut. "I was looking for you, actually. Nurse at the desk said she saw you head this way. Got something for ya."

"Oh?" She tossed the rest of her half of the doughnut into the bag and threw the whole thing into the garbage in preparation. Detective Harding reached into his back pocket with the same hand he had just dusted clean and with the flourish of a magician, pulled out a square of folded paper that Victoria recognized immediately.

"Oh," she said again, this time a sigh that revealed too much. The recollection of the words and lines in Billy's handwriting tugged at her, and she snatched it from Detective Harding without asking permission and held it to her beating heart, forgetting she wasn't alone.

"One of the uniforms made me promise to get this back to you. I can…see why now."

"Sorry," she blushed and hid the note safely between her palms. "Thank you for bringing it, but –you didn't have to come all this way just to..."

"I didn't," he said without sensitivity and brushed past her. He plopped onto the sofa and settled in like he was ready for an afternoon of football and beer. "I came to follow up on the investigation."

"Investigation?" The word was like a punch in her stomach. "It's a-a full-fledged investigation now?"

Detective Harding studied her face, her reaction from where he sat. It was just part of his nature, his job, and though he undoubtedly saw the tears form in Victoria's eyes, he didn't show it in his response. "Let's just say there's still a lot of questions without answers."

"Like what?"

"Like…where did Billy go after he left your house? According to all the statements we took, you were the last person who saw him on the 14th."

"So what? Does that make me a suspect or something?"

"Yes," he stated simply, and Victoria felt her blood pressure rise and her fists tighten. But no sooner had the word left his lips, another formed and his face once again cracked into a smile. "No," he laughed, but sensed he had gone too far. "But you seem to know him better than most. His habits. What would be strange behavior for him."

"No. Not anymore. I can't help. You should talk to Chelsea Lawson. She's…she might know something."

"We already did." He pulled out a notebook, one similar to the one the other officer had used when he took her statement. "Chelsea Lawson," he read from it. "Last saw Billy the morning he disappeared. Said he was going to see his kids. They had a fight about her ex and broke up. She said he planned to send for his things."

"What about Gabriel Bingham? Did you talk to him?"

"He was there," Harding said, a curious look on his face. "They were each other's alibis, in fact."

"That's convenient," Victoria scoffed. He was taking up most of the couch, but she managed to squeeze herself on the edge of a free corner and threw her hands up in surrender. "Okay. What else?"

He grinned like a quarterback who had just thrown a winning touchdown or a kid given a clue to a treasure box. He sat up and leaned forward, a signal that he was ready to get down to business. He pointed to an address neatly written on a separate page in his notebook. "Okay. Do you know why Billy would have been here?"

"No. Why?"

"That's the site of the accident."

"But that's….that's in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing out there but farmland. And Adam's house." Harding gave her a questioning look that matched the intensity of her own confusion. She hadn't even asked where the crash took place. She'd assumed it had been near Delia's memorial. "My brother Adam," she explained, "my half-brother Adam lived there with Chelsea. But that was a long time ago. I don't know why Billy would have been there."

Harding wrote something in the notebook beneath the address. "Maybe he was there against his will?"

"What?"

He looked up at Victoria, half-surprised to see her. He had been talking to himself, working through scenarios in his head, but although he'd brought her into his process by accident, it frankly seemed he would need her to solve the case. "Look. Right now there's no evidence Billy drove himself anywhere. His car is still in garage at the penthouse. He was living there, right? The car at the alleged crash site, we can't locate an owner. The VIN number was burned off."

"What do you mean "alleged" crash site?" He was scaring her and upsetting her and all she wanted to do was go find Billy, see if he was back in his room. Make sure he was still breathing. And yet, she needed to know it all. Every detail.

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but there were no skid marks on the road, Ms. Newman. No sign of swerving or braking. The damage to the guardrail is minimal. Doesn't add up." He stopped, and she thought he was through, but he closed his notebook and lowered his voice. "Then there are the injuries to his wrists. Rope burns. "

She hadn't noticed them, his wrists. Only one was visible because of the cast, and his other injuries, all of his other injuries had seemed more important. "He was tied up?"

"Can't be sure." His emotional disconnect was challenged by her ghostly face, the softness of her voice that made even his voice soft. "Does he have any enemies that you know of?"

"No" was her immediate response, but she shook her head right after saying it. "He gambled. He, um, he has a gambling addiction, and debt collectors. I was…I was held hostage by one a couple years ago. Do you think-do you think that's what happened?"

"It's a possibility. His wallet and phone are missing, so it's possible. Is there anyone else?"

She bent over until her face hit her knees, suddenly sick and dizzy. She racked her brain for more answers, anything to help track down the bastard responsible. Billy aggravated plenty of people, most of them he was related to or married to. But only two other people came close to being an enemy. One was dead, and the other… the other walked passed the waiting room door just as she sat up and all the blood rushed to her, like a cold chill.

She didn't expect to see her father there, but when she did, she expected him to stop when he saw her. But he didn't see her. He walked on passed, and she stood, leaving the detective alone. He was still talking to her, but she barely heard him as she her father continue down the hall and then press the button that would open the doors to the ICU, to Billy.

"What about the bottle?" she asked suddenly, startling her companion.

"The bottle?"

"Yeah, the bottle of scotch found at the crash site." She gathered her stuff as she spoke, ready to make her escape. "Were there any prints. The other officer, he said there might be prints?"

"Yeah," he said and stood, sensing she was ready to bolt. "But they were ruled out because—"

"Sorry," she said suddenly and was gone despite his pleading hands in the air.

"Because they belong to Adam Newman," he said to no one and punch the air. "And we can't arrest a dead man."

Victor Newman walked the down the hallway of the ICU as casually and possessively as he walked the halls of Newman Enterprises. He stopped and smiled at the bubbly nurses who passed him in a hurry, and they smiled back but kept walking. Nothing about his air suggested he needed their help anyway. He knew exactly which room he was likely to find Jack Abbott in.

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked angrily the moment he walked through the door. Victor didn't respond right away. He took a long look at the figure in the bed between them, while Jack watched the comings and goings outside the hospital room like he had money on it. Billy Abbott. The man who had ruined his daughter's life, the reason he was here. Disfigured. Unconscious. Near death. He should have been elated.

"I told you we needed to talk," Victor finally said, his eyes still on Billy.

"And I told you later. Not here. And not now. You have to g—"

"Daddy? What are you doing here?"

Neither man had heard her enter, and the sound of his daughter's voice unnerved them both, though each had known her presence was possible. Victor turned slowly and met her eyes, those big eyes he had loved for so long, filled with hesitant loved and the fire of a ready fight. He smiled at her and approached her to wrap his arms around her.

"I came to see how you are doing, my sweetheart. Your mother is very concerned about you."

"I'm fine," Victoria replied as her eyes continued to search the space between the adversaries. Until she saw Billy, saw that he was back where she needed him to be. And he was breathing. Victor watched with a mix of sympathy and disgust as she walked to the bed and fawned over the man who had hurt her so badly, tucking blankets around him, making sure he was comfortable.

"I'm glad you're here," she said to her father when she was finished. Her comment surprised both men, and they waited nervously for her to continue. "I need to talk to you. About work. I need to take a few days, maybe longer. To stay here."

If she had expected him to refuse or berate her, she would have been wrong. He smiled at her instead and placed his strong hands on the tops of her shoulders. "You take all the time you need. Okay?"

"Okay?" she said, but something was off. Her senses told her that there was more to his visit than her well-being, and more than the usual tension between the two men. "What's going on here? Between you two? Because he doesn't need this right now, and frankly, neither do I. If-if you two can't put aside your differences, then you need to leave. Both of you."

Jack and Victor both opened their mouths to respond, to tell her that all was okay, that she was just stressed, but for the second time in one day, one of the machines protested and raged at them with angry, rapid beeps. Jack panicked, his face turning ashen and then red with lack of oxygen. Her father, too, seemed concerned.

"It's okay," Victoria said, forcing herself to remain calm, though her own heart raced again. "It's just the ventilator. It happened this morning. It'll stop by itself."

But it didn't stop, and unlike this morning, nurses rushed through the doors, several of them, all anxious and swarming Billy. One ran back out and returned with Dr. Walker.

"It's just the machine," Victoria cried. "Isn't it? Isn't it? Please?"

One of them, not Diana, another nurse with short hair pushed Victoria back, out of the way, and shook her head no.

"What is it? Please tell me. Please!"

"He's in cardiac arrest. You need to leave," she said and then disappeared into the swarm.

"NO," Victoria cried out. She tried to run to him, but Jack caught her from behind, his hands wrapping tight around her upper arms.

"Get these people out of here," Dr. Walker shouted without looking up.

"No! I have to stay," Victoria begged even as she felt herself begin pulled towards the door. "Please."

"Get them out," Dr. Walker shouted again, louder than the first time.

"Please," she begged, fighting harder against Jack's strength and her father's urging. Dr. Walker looked up then, his stethoscope hanging from his ears. He met her eyes with his, and she saw the concern, a little fear and the conflict before him.

"Please don't let him die," she whispered to him as the door closed, separating her from Billy. Lifeless and exhausted, she lay her against the hard surface and shut her eyes tight against the beeping, begging to wake up, certain this was just a dream and any minute now, she would wake up and all would be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey,

Sorry again for the lateness. Believe me, I'm not proud that I'm only managing one chapter a month, but it leaves a lot of room for improvement.

Deana, I thought it might be you! :) Thanks for the support as always. Glad you're enjoying.

Anyway, hope you're all enjoying. Thanks for reading!

Balm

Chapter 5

Fire ripped through his body, twisting and turning through his veins like lava, looking for an out, but denied at every turn. Trapped, the heat pooled in his brain where it scourged his memory of all the goodness and hope that was left.

And yet, still he shivered. The cold was never-ending, so constant it no longer hurt, but numbed. That was the real danger, he knew, and he felt the hot-cold panic rise inside him in response. Everything was a jumble. Where he was. How he got there. What he felt. Was it day? Was it night? Past and present, truth and lies, all were fractured pieces stuck together like a stained glass window.

He wanted to scream, but couldn't. Something, a gag or maybe tape, covered his mouth.

He wanted to run, too. As usual. He wanted to run as far away as he could, leave whatever mess this was for someone else to clean up. But he couldn't run either. He wouldn't. Not this time. This was the end, his last chance to do right and leave with dignity.

Focus. Just focus on her, he reminded himself.

* * *

But it was getting harder to seeing her. It was dark. Everything was dark. He couldn't even make out the dirty window above his head anymore. Or was it the window of the car that he should have been looking for? Billy squeezed his eyes shut tight against the confusion and tried to force the fire out.

Fire. The fire. The beach. The limbo bar. Jamaica. Jamaica. Jamaica. Victoria.

One by one, their faces came back to him, smiling and laughing, a steady stream of blue eyes. Johnny. Delia. Reed. Katherine Rose. And then Victoria. She was smiling, too. Her eyes were the bluest of all, as clear as a September sky. Her dark hair was pulled back to show off her face, and the sun shining behind her was a bright halo around her head. She wore white, like an angel, and her arm was linked through someone else's. But it was him she was looking at, him she was smiling at.

His body stilled. The fire died, and all was beautifully calm. She seemed so real, so real that if she were closer he could touch her, and he swore he could hear her voice, sweet like honey, but muffled so the words made no sense. She was supposed to walk towards him. That was how it was supposed to go, but instead her smile faded and she backed away until the halo of sunlight obscured her face and blinded him. The further she got, the clearer he could hear her. She was yelling "no" and "please." Over and over again, like sudden spurts from a machine gun.

Memory returned to him harshly, one hot sting after another. She was gone. She didn't want him. Not after everything he had put her through. How could he be so stupid, holding onto hope with a rope that he had destroyed? The light became brighter, filtered through a dirty window, and he fell into it without a fight. They were all right, those people who had lived through death. There was a bright light at the end. And this was the end. The proof appeared in front of him.

A man sat on a park bench. He wore a dark tailored suit, and his silver hair was smoothed perfectly against his skull. Without turning his head from something he watched in the distance, something that echoed with a child's laughter, he spoke two words.

"Hello, son."

* * *

Inconsolable. That was the word they kept using to describe her, at first in hushed conversations in secluded corners of the waiting room. But after awhile, they didn't bother to whisper. As word spread about Billy's turn for the worse, the Abbotts all returned to the hospital in a hurry, Ashley and Traci as a pair, Abby and Kyle later, separately. Every new arrival mirrored the last.

"How's Billy. What's happened?" came their first breathless, fearful words.

Victoria listened numbly, involuntarily as Jack filled them in, repeating the same careful explanation each time. Her father, still strangely present, added pieces of the puzzle when his enemy faltered, but the truth neither uttered was that they still knew nothing more than Billy was in trouble, serious trouble.

"How's she doing?" Their eyes burned holes in the back of her head, and no matter how she steeled herself against the inevitable question, that emphasis on "she" was always unnerving.

"She's…inconsolable," Jack sighed. "She's just been sitting there since it happened."

And it was the truth. How could it not be the truth? There wasn't anything they could do to make her relax or feel better. The only thing that would do that was seeing Billy, awake and well. Until that happened, all she could do was sit there and focus on the phantom beeping in her head. Beep. Beep. Beep. Live. Live. Live.

Despite Jack's warning, a few offered comforting squeezes to her shoulders, but none tried anything more. Her father even, after being rebuffed enough times, finally left. She didn't know or care if he left the hospital entirely or just the waiting room. It was for the best either way. Deep down she was looking for someone to blame, and he was the easiest target. It was no coincidence that Billy had been fine until he showed up.

Jill barreled into the waiting room last with Michael in tow, sheer determination keeping her from falling apart as she apologized in little bursts of breath for not getting there sooner. They'd been at the courthouse all morning, filing some sort of injunction against Billy's living will. Michael seemed to think they had a shot, but Victoria felt nothing at their news. Their words were just words. Michael couldn't do anything, a judge couldn't do anything, not when a higher power still had the final say.

"How's Victoria?" Jill added to the chorus after Jack had filled her in on Billy.

"Inconsolable," he repeated once more.

Jill didn't listen. She headed straight for Victoria and invaded her space, taking a seat beside her on the couch that until then she had occupied alone. When she wasn't pushed away, Jill linked her arm through her former daughter-in-law's and sighed a whimpering sign. Victoria wanted to revolt against the comforting move, lash out, hurl every insult she could think of at Billy's mother. Ask her why she wasn't there for him more, why she couldn't have been a better mother. But again, she fought the bitter need to blame someone and allowed her stay there, as a comfort to herself only.

It had been one hour, thirteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds since Jack pulled her from Billy's room. She'd counted them, watched the seconds tick away without a word from Dr. Walker or one of the nurses, from anyone at all. She felt herself going crazy waiting. It wasn't enough to be surrounded by a room full of people who loved Billy and understood what she was going through. She needed something else to hold onto, something to ground her and keep her from running mad through the hospital, demanding to know what was going on.

"Vick."

Relief came in a single syllable, at the moment she needed it most. Nicholas stood just inside the waiting room door, his hands shoved in his pockets and a trace of uneasiness in his voice and on his face. He was the best thing she had seen all day, and her arms were around his neck before Jill fully realized she'd been abandoned.

"Hey. Hey," he soothed against her head as his arms wrapped tight around her waist. He felt like safety and childhood and home, and she just wanted to hold onto him forever.

"How are the kids?" she asked without moving, but felt the roomful of eyes undoubtedly on them.

"They're fine. They're at the ranch with Mom. Taking a nap when I left." Victoria pulled away just enough for him to read her mind and the concern in her eyes. "Don't worry," he added. "I told Summer and Noah to stay with them, too. Dad told us what happened with Billy, and I just-I thought you might need me more."

"You were right," she smiled and hugged him again. Over his shoulder, she saw that her brother hadn't come alone. The woman's name escaped her, but Victoria recognized her as Gabriel Bingham's wife, and a new surge of anger and disgust started to rise within her as she remembered what Jack had told her that first night. But she didn't have time to think about any of that, because just beyond her brother's latest conquest, Dr. Walker exited the ICU doors. His stride was hurried and powerful as he walked towards the waiting room, his eyes locking on Victoria's the whole way while his face remained unreadable.

"How is he, Doc?" Jack asked for the group. Everyone else must have seen him approach too, because they had formed a semi-circle to greet him. Victoria released Nick from the embrace, but held onto his hand as she joined them.

"Stable, for now," the doctor replied and forced his eyes away from Victoria only after he'd delivered the news. "Mr. Abbott has an infection from the head trauma. That's what caused the brief cardiac arrest."

"Is that serious? The infection?" Ashley asked.

"Yes. If left untreated, it can spread and cause irreversible damage to his central nervous system. We've started him on a round of strong antibiotics, and we're treating the fever."

"But?" Victoria nearly whispered. There was something in the doctor's voice that suggested he was holding back, and the pause that followed confirmed it for her.

"But," the doctor repeated and met her eyes again. He was in full doctor mode, but something had changed in his attitude towards her or the situation one. "There are other complications, or the potential for other complications rather. We're not just treating the injuries he came in with anymore."

"Then treat him," Jill blurted, exasperated, her growing upset visible on her face and in her movements. She had Michael by the arm, dragging him to the front of group. He seemed embarrassed, but complied. "You give my son whatever he needs. And-and don't worry about that stupid living will. We're getting that overturned. My lawyer, he's right here. He's filed an injunction, so the ventilator stays."

"You are free to take whatever legal action you feel is necessary, Mrs. Atkinson. But fighting to keep him on the ventilator is not my concern right now. The ventilator, in fact, puts him at greater risk for developing pneumonia. And he's already fighting one infection. There's also the risk of seizures and blood clots and lung injury, not to mention there is still significant swelling in his brain. The tests we did this morning show little brain activity. So, please, do what you need to do, but my focus is on the next 24 hours because frankly…"

Dr. Walker didn't finish his statement, but he didn't need to. He'd filled his audience with enough fear to fill in the blank themselves. Jill's grip on Michael tightened into one of need, and all of the Abbotts were hushed in silent prayer at the prospect of repeated tragedy. Victoria felt Nick strengthen his grip on her hand, but she pulled it free and folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry," the doctor added quietly, without clarify if the apology was for his delivery or the news he had delivered. "You can see him now. Just no more than three at a time please."

He received no thanks and little more than a nod goodbye, and with one last look at the group, and a lingering glance at a stone-cold Victoria, Dr. Walker turned and headed back to the ICU, his stride just as hurried, but not quite as powerful as before. No one said anything for a few minutes, all too inconsolable to move or speak. Little by little, they came to life and discussed in whispers who would go see Billy first. It felt to Victoria like they were arranging a farewell tour, and yet, that was the moment the unnamed woman stepped forward to rejoin Nick, but stood in front of Victoria, nervous and sympathetic.

"Hi," she said. "You may not remember…but I'm—"

"Gabriel Bingham's wife?" Victoria spat, turning only her eyes to acknowledge the stranger.

"Y-yes," the woman admitted, with a little shame and more than a little fear. "Sage. I um…I just…I wanted t-to…to come by and offer my sympathies. And see if there's anything I can do. I know what it's like watching someone you love suffer."

"You know what it's like," Victoria repeated with a laugh like it was the punch line of a bad joke. But the laugh quickly faded, and steely anger took its place. She took a step forward, until only inches separated them and the other woman took a weak step in retreat. "You want to help? Sage? Is that your name?"

"Vick," her brother warned softly in her ear. "Sage- she's just trying to be nice. That's all."

His words had little effect on her, other than fueling the fire inside her. Anger was eating at her insides. She felt it, felt it boiling up and ready to spew. Sanity and reason begged her to take a breath and a step back, but the fire, the anger was too strong. "Nice?" she seethed. "Nice? It would be nice if she and her husband had never come to town. And it would be nice if Billy weren't in there fighting for his life."

With every word, her voice became louder and her brother tried harder to control her. But she was truly inconsolable now. Michael, at Jack's urging and as the least involved, tried to usher Sage away before things escalated, and at just the hint of a commotion, Detective Harding emerged from his hiding place outside the waiting room.

"You?" Victoria uttered at the sight of his face. "You're still here?" Confused, everyone stilled and watched as Victoria dismissed the officer with a disgusted shake of her head.

"You want to help?" she asked Sage again, calmer this time, but her voice still filled with rage.

"Y-yes."

"Then do what the police aren't doing. Find the bastard that did this to Billy."

* * *

The chapel was the only place in the hospital the beeping didn't follow her. That wasn't the reason she sought it out after fleeing from the waiting room, but it was an immediate discovery the moment she walked through the doors. It was so quiet there, peaceful, that she could hear the whispered prayers of those behind her and if she concentrated enough, the crackling flickers of the dozens of candles in front of her. Victoria stared at those tiny flames lit with hope and faith until her eyes blurred and they converged into one large, fiery prayer.

She was tired, so tired, and the soft ache that reminded her how much she missed her children had renewed at some point during the drama. She closed her eyes against the pain and the blurry light and listened in reverence as people came and went, lit new candles, whispered new prayers into folded palms. She lost track of time and the comings and goings, reminded that life existed outside the chapel only when the soft sounds of another peace-seeker stopped short of the alter and lingered beside her.

"Hi, Vicky." Only one person used that nickname for her, so it was no surprise when she opened her eyes and saw Ashley standing in the aisle, her purse held neatly in front of her. "May I join you?"

Victoria nodded and sat up straighter, using the moment Ashley passed in front of her to peer behind them. There was no one else in the chapel, just her and the woman she shared a full and interesting past with. "How's he doing?" she asked long after Ashley had settled in next to her.

"Hanging in there. How about you? How are you doing?"

It seemed a laughable question after what had just happened, and Victoria did laugh, a single soft laugh, before covering her face with her hands. "I guess I really made a fool of myself back there, huh?"

"No," Ashley responded, her mouth flattening into a sympathetic smile. "You were upset. I think everyone understands that."

"Well, I'm glad someone understands, because I'm having a hard time understanding much of anything lately." Her voice broke at the end, and Ashley twisted her body to face her and straightened an arm across the back of the pew behind Victoria. This woman who had been her enemy, her stepmother, her rival in business and love, but also a great confidant, especially in all things Billy, was ready once again to hear her confessions with love and understanding.

"Why am I here?" she asked with raw honesty. "Billy and I, we're not even together."

"Relationships are complicated, Vicky. All relationships. We understand that more than most. Right?" Victoria half-smiled in agreement, and Ashley brought her hand up to rest her head against it, her face turning serious. "You know that's sort of the reason I came looking for you. I've been wanting to talk to you alone, to thank you for being here. I know it's not easy for you, but…we–we need you here. Your faith in my brother has always been a source of strength for us. It makes us feel more certain he's going to pull through."

"What if it's not enough?" she squeaked out, and a hot tear rolled down her face. It matched the quiet tears forming in Ashley's eyes. "What if-what if he's done? What if he can't fight anymore, if it's easier to let go? I don't want to see him hurt anymore, Ashley. I don't. But…I just got used to him not being in my life. I can't imagine him not in any life."

"Then you tell him that," she whispered loudly. "Remind him of all the reasons he does have, all the good things that make the hurt bearable. The joy in life. Go to him, and tell him that, despite the past or the future, that right now, you want him to live."

They were both crying now, trying to wipe the tears as fast as they came though they were alone. "I will," Victoria promised, her hands and face. "But I'm not ready yet. I need a few minutes."

"That's okay," Ashley laughed and dug into her purse for tissues for them both. "There is another reason I came to find you. Nick had Summer and Noah bring Johnny and Katie to see you. They're downstairs in the cafeteria. And I hear Johnny's putting on quite a show."

They both laughed this time, with red eyes, but dry faces, and stood together. "He's just like his daddy. Life of the party."

"Aw, I think there's a little bit of you in there, too." Ashley smiled, and Victoria surprised her with a hug.

"Thank you," she breathed, and as they separated added. "You know it was right here. In this chapel. Where we named Johnny."

"I know. Billy told me. Told me how much it meant to him that you chose our father's name."

"It was meant to be," she said simply with the sparkle of a new tear in her eye, and before they exited through those sacred doors, the two women lit a single candle and whispered the same prayer. To God. And to John Abbott.

* * *

The place looked like a mausoleum. Or something straight out of a Gothic novel. It was clear from the pristine path of snow leading to the front door and the web of winter-deadened vines that clung to it that no one had been there in a while, maybe since the last occupants. But none of that stopped Harding from sweeping the vines away and jimmying the lock.

Inside, the house was dark and empty. The little bit of late afternoon light that scampered in through the open door served only to highlight the dust in the air and offer a hint of abandoned furniture. Flashlight in hand, Harding ventured further inside the cold interior, shining the bright circle of light in every nook and cranny as he stepped carefully, mindful of ghosts and evidence, looking for anything or maybe nothing at all.

He could have called a unit to back him up, or to do the search for him while he headed back to the station, but he had no warrant to search the place, no reason either. He was here on a hunch, a hunch and three names that had been repeated too often in the last forty-eight hours to be a coincidence. If nothing came from his little excursion, all he would lose was a couple of hours. But if his gnawing gut was right, justice could be served and a whole room full of people would have the answers they needed, one in particular. Nothing was more important than having a shot at justice, that and maybe a little bit of glory on the side.

The floors creaked as Harding made his way from room to room, begging to tell the stories of all the past inhabitants. Every square foot was a memorial to things that used to be, but by the time he finished the tour, the only signs of actual life he had seen were rat droppings along baseboards and delicate curtains of spider webs hanging from the ceiling. He wasn't deterred yet, though. The door was off the kitchen, and a bare light bulb dangled above the wooden steps. As the detective took a first tentative step, the shrill chords of a disco tune rang out from his pocket, startling him and stopping his progress.

"Yeah? Fish?" His warm breath floated out in front of him as he spoke, and his voice seemed too loud for the emptiness that surrounded him. Flashlight in hand, his phone in the other, he continued his rickety descent into darkness. "You find the footage?"

"Of course. I also found the stash of candy in your desk. Hey, where are you? I can barely hear you."

"Just…following up on a lead. So what'd you find?"

"Pixie Stix. A whole drawer full of them. You know, I woulda never pegged you as the Pixie Stix kind of guy."

"On the video, Fisher," Harding said through gritted teeth. "What did you find on the video?"

He had reached the bottom of the stairs and found himself in a large room, empty except for a pile of trash and a few broken pieces of furniture that used to be expensive. There were doors leading to other rooms on two walls, and on the third wall, rusty pipes, all capped off so they were no longer usable, extended from the cinder block walls. It was probably an old laundry room, he figured, because he knew from his tour that there was a brand new, modern one on the second floor. He shone his flashlight through one of the doors. It was a garage without a car, a dark, shiny puddle of oil where one used to be, and another door that led to the outside. The snow on the other side was not pristine, and Harding felt an unsettling in his gut. Kevin had yet to answer him, but just as he started to worry he'd lost service, he heard his faint reply.

"He came back."

"He came back? Who came back, Fisher?"

"Billy." It was the answer the detective expected, but he needed to hear it anyway. Harding noticed that all the playfulness and cockiness was gone from Kevin's voice, reminding him that the man on the other end had a vested interest in this case, almost as much as the woman at the hospital with angry blue eyes. "He came back to the penthouse on the 14th, after seeing Victoria. But he didn't park in the garage. He parked on the street outside the garage. This video's from the bank across the street. You were right about the penthouse cameras. Wiped clean."

"Parking on the street suggests he wasn't staying. Supports the break up story," Harding muttered more to himself as he retreated to the old laundry room and approached the second mystery door. "But it also means two of our witnesses are lying. And how did his car get in the garage later?"

"I haven't found that footage yet. But listen, that's not all. He didn't stay. Billy leaves five minutes later, a whole 15 seconds after Gabriel Bingham's car pulls out of the garage. You want to guess who leaves another five minutes after that?"

"Chelsea Lawson." It wasn't so much a guess as intuition.

"Bingo," Kevin replied, a trace of ironic laughter in his voice. "But what I don't know yet is where they went."

Harding froze inside the little room behind the second door. It looked like an old offic maybe, without a desk. Stacks of old ledgers were on the floor and the broken, dusty bookshelf against one wall. There was a separate entrance across from Harding and a long rectangular window near the ceiling. It was dirty, and barely told him that the sun had finally disappeared. On the floor, in a corner, loose pages were scattered across the floor, and the end of a rope was coiled like a snake. Harding shone his light on the rope, following it up the wall where the other end was tethered to a rusty exposed pipe. And next to it, on the wall, a dark stain, abstract as modern art. Or blood from a head injury.

"I think I have a hunch," Harding replied, forgetting there was anyone even listening.

* * *

The rumors about Johnny were true. Though his world was upside down and permanent heartbreak a few floors away, her little boy was busy making people laugh playing Cheerio basketball with his uncle and cousins. By the time Victoria got to the cafeteria, a group of nurses had joined them, lined up with the others, mouths open to receive the tiny hoops he threw at them. If he hit his mark, he laughed; if he missed, he laughed harder. But when he saw his mother, he stopped his game and ran straight to her, giving her a wet kiss on the mouth and a tight hug. Then he was off again to entertain, giving Victoria a few minutes to sneak off to feed Katie.

Seeing the kids lightened her soul and renewed her focus on bringing their father back to them. She sent them off with kisses goodbye and an apology and thank you to her brother, and then headed straight for the ICU without stopping in the waiting room. Jack was with Billy, and he stood when she entered the room. She motioned with her head that he didn't have to leave, but he walked towards her anyway and placed a kiss on her forehead, saying there was something he needed to do and he'd be back later.

They were alone again, she and Billy and the steady beeping. He showed no signs of the trauma from earlier. In fact, despite the cuts and bruises and swelling that lessened a little more every day, he looked more like the Billy she knew than he had in weeks, months, over a year. The pink blanket she had brought the night before had been pushed carelessly to the foot of the bed, and Victoria grabbed the edges and pulled it back up to his naked waist. She straightened and smoothed all his blankets, tucking them in close to his body. He looked cold, but maybe it was just her need to do something for him. Johnny's dinosaur, too, was no longer on the bed. Someone had placed it tenderly in the chair, her chair, and Victoria picked it up and returned him to the foot of the bed.

"Hey," she whispered and sat, scooting the chair as close as she could get it. "You scared me earlier. Don't do that again, okay?" She tried to keep her voice light and playful, and in her head she imagined him smiling that million-dollar smile that could get her to do just about anything and responding with an echoing "okay."

"Johnny asked about you. You should have seen him. He had this whole group of nurses playing that stupid Cheerio game you taught him. He had them literally eating out of his hands. And the floor, the floor was covered in Cheerios. Just like the floor at home when you two played it. Remember?" she laughed, but her laughter faded when he didn't join in. "I'm running out of things to tell him about you, so hurry up and wake up, will ya? Seriously, Billy. I—we all want you to wake up. We need you."

She picked up his hand and held it between hers, and found the little black mark between his fingers. She wondered if anyone else knew about it, had discovered it as they sat with him. Her eyes traveled up his arm, following the trail of cuts and burns that seemed different now. They hurt her, his injuries, after what she had learned from Detective Harding, and for the first time in two days she noticed the red mark that circled his wrist like a bracelet. There was probably one on his other wrist, too, hidden beneath the cast. She felt herself being pulled back towards the dark feelings, the anger towards whoever had done this to him, but she pushed the thoughts and re-focused on her mission-getting him better.

Her eyes searched the table beside him and finally landed on the little silver tin with four letters printed across the lid. She picked it up, and opened it. A soft scent of coconut hit her nose, and she dipped a finger into the creamy mixture. She touched it to the first wound on his hand, a small cut, and rubbed the balm in tiny, featherlike circles until it disappeared. When that one was done, she dipped her finger again and moved on to the burn around his wrist as something Jack said echoed in her brain.

Love is the balm that heals all wounds.

Love still existed. It did. Despite the hurt. Despite the anger. Despite the sadness and the unbearable grief. Despite all the bad things, she could and would unearth enough love to heal him. If this was the only thing she could do to bring back her children's father, she would do it, day and night until every wound was healed.

She was so lost in her ministrations she didn't hear the door to Billy's room open. Dr. Walker was fully inside the room, as surprised by her presence as she was by his, when she finally noticed him. They both froze, he with Billy's chart is his hands, she with her hands wrapped around Billy's forearm, an awkward, tense silence expanding between them.

"Hi," Victoria finally uttered.

He continued to stare, his dark eyes flitting from hers to where her hands still gently massaged a burn. "Hello, Ms…"

"Newman. Victoria Newman," she stammered, realizing they had never been properly introduced. "Is it –this okay? The nurse, Diana…she said it was okay."

"It's fine," he said without really paying attention to what she was asking. It seemed personal and intimate what she was doing, and he didn't want to acknowledge that. She stopped anyway, putting away the tin as the doctor approached Billy on the other side of the bed. "You can stay," he added, afraid he had made her uncomfortable. "I won't be long."

Victoria pulled her knees up into her chest, making herself as small and out of the way as possible. It was the first time they had been alone and the longest time she had spent with the man in charge of Billy's care. He was tall and dark, handsome in a way you had to get used to. He was focused and attentive, his hands powerful but deft, and tan except for the telling white circle on his ring finger, another ghost of a wedding band.

"Can I ask you something?" she said when it seemed he was nearly done. He sighed and looked at her, expecting the usual questions loved ones asked about a patient's condition. "How did you know it was Billy?"

His brow furrowed in confusion, and his mouth hung open, poised to answer if he'd understood what she was asking.

"You said that he was brought in as a John Doe," she explained. "And that it was an accident you knew it was Billy. How did you know?"

"His tattoo," Dr. Walker responded and almost smiled as he sat on the stool across from Victoria, a knowing look in his eyes. "The one on his back."

"B-but he had that…I thought he…he was going to get it removed."

"Looks like he went through the first round, but never showed up for the second. The doctor he was seeing for the removal happened to be in the E.R. that night and recognized the tattoo. A few tests later, we knew it was Billy Abbott."

"Oh. I didn't…realize."

"No big deal," he shrugged, which did nothing to lesson the blush across her cheek or the unsettling in her stomach. "Lots of people don't go through with the removal. Hurts too much. Or…they have second thoughts. It was lucky, though. Finding it. Easier to treat a patient when you know their history."

"And yet you don't give him much of a chance of surviving, do you?" she asked pointedly, and his spine stiffened immediately in response.

"It's not my job to give percentages, Ms. Newman."

"But if you had to? Look, I just want to know what I'm – what we're dealing with. Is it 50 percent? 40%? Less?"

He shifted uneasily. But the pleading look in her eyes forced him to respond, even though he knew she wouldn't like the answer. "In my career, in patients with similar injuries, less than 20% fully recover. Another 20% survived with lifelong complications."

He expected her to cry or get angry. That's what always happened and was why he rarely shared the numbers, but when this dark-headed mystery of a woman laughed, he felt he had surely seen it all.

"I'm sorry," she said through a smile, but the ease of the apology told him it wasn't sincere, but rather a formality. She stopped laughing, but the smile remained, changing from amused to sentimental, a far way look taking over her face. "I was pregnant when Billy and I got married. The first time we got married," she corrected. "It wasn't why we got married, but I was. Then I, um, I lost the baby the same month as our wedding."

Dr. Walker didn't apologize or offer condolences or statistics about the number of pregnancies that end in miscarriage. He sat, unmoved, but waiting for her to continue sharing this personal information about her relationship with his patient.

"After that, a doctor told me there was less than a 10% chance I would ever conceive again, even less that I would carry to term."

Still he didn't respond, but his eyes were glued to her, entranced by her story. Victoria stood, and his eyes followed as she walked across the room and picked up the picture of a smiling baby she had taken less than two weeks ago. She held it up for the doctor to see. "This is our daughter. She just turned three months old last week."

"Congratulations," he finally said, and she hugged the picture to her chest.

"I believe in miracles, Dr. Walker. But my question is, do you?"

"I believe…some things happen that can't be explained. I've seen patients survive when science says they shouldn't. And others," he stopped and took a deep breath and stretched the fingers of a fidgeting hand. "And others who don't when science says they should."

"Well, Billy's going to survive this, whether science says he should or shouldn't." And she believed it. For the first time since she walked off the elevator and saw Jack's tired, pale face, she believed it.

"I hope he does." Dr. Walker said with a stoic face and stood. The stool screeched angrily across the floor as he did. "For your daughter. And for you."

"But you don't think he will."

"I told you. It's not my job to predict. My job is to heal. So if you'll excuse me, I have rounds to make."

He was agitated, and Victoria was certain she was the cause. She blocked his path, not on purpose, but as he stood there gripping Billy's chart waiting for her to move, her eye was again drawn to his left hand and the tanless ring on his finger, more noticeable than the scarred one on Billy's. "So what's your story?"

"I don't have a…" He started to lie and switched the chart to his other, less traitorous hand. But it was her eyes again, now honest and tender that made him reconsider. "It's complicated," he finally admitted.

"Aren't they all?" she smiled sadly and flattened herself against the wall so he could pass.

Alone again, Victoria returned to her post to finish what she had started. The smell of the coconut made her smile with nostalgia. When she reached the wounds on his face, her touch became gentler, and the feel of Billy's skin beneath her fingers made her remember more, made her want to remember more. Ashley's words were close in her heart, and as she finished applying the balm, she pulled out her phone and slid her thumb across the screen until the unmistakable sound of steel drums filled the room.

"Remember this?" she asked Billy. "You love Jamaica. And you got me to love Jamaica, too."

The room smelled like coconut and not a hospital, and reggae filled the air, drowning out the beeping. Victoria grabbed a pillow and a second chair to recreate her makeshift bed. She faced Billy, her feet at his head, and stretched her arm along his bed, locking her fingers between his.

"I love you," she said, out loud for the first time in a long time. She closed her tired eyes and prayed that twenty-four hours was enough time for a miracle.

* * *

"Dad?"

Billy sat the bench beside his father and only then could he see what the older man saw. Delia. His Delia. Running and laughing, chasing butterflies like she used to do in the backyard. She saw him, too, and grinned wider and waved. His heart broke and healed all over again.

"You think you're dead, don't you son?" his father laughed.

Billy forced his eyes away from his beautiful, happy daughter and studied his father's laughter. "Yeah. You mean I'm not?"

"You're not."

"But how can…? I mean you're here and…she's here. My little girl's here. Why is she here if I'm not?"

"Because you need to see her. You need to believe that she's taken care of. And she is, Billy. She is." His father touched his face, patted his cheek the way he used to do as Billy struggled to understand. He had been ready for death, steeled himself for the end, and seeing Delia made it all the more worth choosing.

"The mind is a powerful thing, Billy," he continued. "It can trick you into believing anything, and you've been relying on those tricks for a long time now. But it's time to open your eyes, son. Open your eyes and see what's real, not what you think is real or what you want to be real."

"I can't, Dad." His eyes hadn't moved from Delia since he saw her. She was so happy and perfect, and the light seemed to follow wherever she went. She stopped again, smiled and waved. He waved back, but it was then he realized she wasn't waving hello. She was waving goodbye. To him.

"Yes, you can. You're an Abbott, and you have another little daughter who needs you to teach her how to take her first step, to walk her down the aisle one day. A son who needs you to hold his hand on the first day of Kindergarten and teach him how to shave before he needs to. A stepson who'll need your advice on girls pretty soon. A family."

Billy closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear his father's words, but in the dark he saw them again. Johnny, Reed. Katherine Rose.

"Open your eyes, son. Open your eyes."

He did, and light greeted him. It was warm and real and soft. Unlike him. He felt like concrete, or lead, a statue holding a dove in his hand. But it wasn't a dove. It was a delicate hand twisted is his own, and it was real, as real as the dark, tangled hair sprawled out beside him and the sleeping face of the woman both belonged to. Victoria. It was Victoria.


	6. Chapter 6

Quick story reminder. The month of Prattastrophes never happened here, so those who died then, remain here. :)

happy reading,

Rhonda

Balm

Chapter 6

He had no intention of waking her. Even though the awkward angle of her neck had to be uncomfortable. Even though the slight furrow of her brow suggested her rest wasn't peaceful. Even though there were a million things he wanted to say to her.

Her hand was weightless in his, like a whisper, words so tender and familiar they only made sense without sound. One slender finger had slipped between two of his, and her thumb curved naturally around his own. It was a habit he'd lost the privilege to practice, an unexplainable need that caused him to lay his thumb across her fingers, the soft pad of it landing on the black band peeking out from under a ring he hadn't given her.

He had no intention of waking her, and yet he stroked her skin, twice. Her hand fluttered in his. He tightened his grip to keep it captive, and as quickly as accidentally finding the secret code to a hidden room or the combination to a treasure chest, her lashes quivered and her eyes opened.

Blue. Clear, blue. Eyes as familiar as his own. She blinked once and then again slowly. Her face showed the confusion he felt as each tried to make sense of this rabbit hole they'd surely fallen down. Then, like magic, her lips parted and widened into a beautiful smile, and moisture pooled at the bottom of those blue eyes. He didn't understand the why of any of it, but all of life suddenly fit into a single moment, and all those million things he wanted to say would have to wait a little longer, forever even..

"Billy?" It was a question, a comment, a wonder, a prayer. Victoria raised her head cautiously, to avoid causing a shift in the universe. The pillow she had folded against the arm of her makeshift bed unfolded and fell into her lap, but even then, nothing shifted. It was real. He was awake. Billy was awake, staring at her through his swollen, bruised eyes, his battered and burned hand holding hers. She saw his jaw move as if to speak, but his mouth, covered with the tape holding the breathing tube in place, couldn't.

Panic hit him, quickly engulfed him, and he pulled his hand from hers violently and began pulling at the tape. He winced in pain moving his arm, but didn't stop fighting, desperate for air different from what the machine was providing.

"Billy? Billy? It's okay. You're okay." The chairs screeched as she stumbled to her feet, catching her cell phone against her leg just before it hit the ground. At some point during the night, Jill must have snuck in and claimed the small sofa as her makeshift bed, her coat as her blanket, and now she was awake too, right in the middle of the chaos.

"He's okay. You're okay," Victoria repeated over and over, knowing her words had little effect on either of them. She ran to the door and called for help. Two nurses responded instantly, one going straight to Billy, while the other left to get the doctor. Victoria couldn't stop smiling, despite the commotion and even when Dr. Walker arrived and she and Jill were pushed outside Billy's room. He was awake. Billy was awake.

Victoria stood for a minute outside the giant window and watched as the doctor tried to calm Billy down, but the adrenaline pounding inside her was too strong to just stand and wait. Without a word to Jill, she turned and practically sprinted down the halls of the ICU, dodging nurses on her course to those double doors. Ashley and Traci were in the waiting room, still asleep in makeshift beds of their own, but the person she was looking for wasn't there. She paused for a second, only a split second, unsure of what to do, which way to go. The decision was made for her when the elevator dinged and there he was, Jack, clean-shaven and clean-clothed. He nearly failed to exit before the doors closed, her wild appearance, wild hair to match wild eyes, seizing him with fear. She was unreadable. Until she smiled. And then she was an angel, come to save him.

"Is he…?"

Victoria could only shake her head as she leapt the distance between them. It was the very same spot as that first night that seemed so long ago now, and the embrace was just as intense, just as desperate. Only this time, it was relief and not fear that held them together. "Yes," she finally laughed against his clean shirt. "He's awake, Jack. Your brother's awake"

She could feel him smile against her, a wide grin that remained when they parted. "When did it happen? How…?"

"Just-just now. I don't know what...what happened. The doctor's with him. He was fighting the ventilator, so we had to go, but he's awake, Jack. He's awake."

He stood processing her jumble of words for a minute and seemed to debate his next move. Instinct kicked in and he grabbed her hand, urging her forward. "C'mon. Let's go."

"N-no," she said, surprising them both. "Um, you go ahead. Tell the others. I'll be…there's…I just need a minute."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said and forced a reassuring smile until he disappeared into the waiting room.

But she wasn't sure. The euphoria was wearing off quickly, too quickly, and the ache of reality was returning too soon. A year ago, there would have been no hesitation. A year ago, it would have been her right, her duty, her instinct to go be with him, to go be with her husband. But a year ago was a year ago, and this cold, February morning was just another day he wasn't her husband. He wasn't her anything, despite the folded paper in her back pocket, despite the hours she had spent by his side. He was the father of her children now, her ex. Nothing more. And as the joyous sounds of an Abbott celebration spilled from the waiting room, Victoria hit the elevator call button. Billy had his family with him now, and there was somewhere she was needed more.

* * *

Harding stifled a yawn and rubbed at the stubble on his face. Across the squad room, Fisher was still fast asleep, his feet propped on top of his desk, his head dangling backwards, mouth open like a baby bird waiting for its mother. The detective wasn't sure if he was jealous or glad that at least one of them had managed to get some rest. The night had been a long one, and though it was morning now, the end was nowhere in sight.

Another yawn came, a deep one he couldn't stop. He needed coffee. He needed coffee bad, but he'd finished the last of the pot hours ago and though he'd never admit it, the snoring ex-barista was better at making it. He reached into his desk drawer instead and picked two red Pixy Stix from his messy stash. He ripped them open as one and emptied the contents of both onto his tongue. The tartness did its job before the sugar could kick in, and Harding stood, re-energized, and slammed the desk drawer shut on his guilty pleasure. The noise was loud, startling, and across the room, Fisher all but tumbled out of his chair.

Harding turned his back to keep from laughing, and while the discombobulated man got his bearings in peace, he confronted the photographs that had given him no rest. They'd been taken late last night after his gruesome discovery. A unit had come out in secret, and with floodlights and blackout curtains over the dirty windows, they'd scoured the crime scene. Alleged crime scene, he reminded himself. Nothing yet pinpointed Adam Newman's old house as the scene of anything except neglect and suspicion. Nothing except a gut feeling that was rarely wrong.

"Anything new?" said a voice disguising sleepiness. Before he could answer, the man the voice belonged to was beside him, studying the pictures as intensely as he was. Harding watched him out of the corner of his eye as he got to the ones of the dark splatters on the basement walls, watched his jaw tighten and his skin pale before looking away.

"Uh-uh," the detective finally answered. "Still waiting on forensics. Still a bunch of puzzle pieces and hunches. Still no motive."

"You dig up anything on Bingham?"

"Nothing more than you found last night. He's your regular garden variety trust fund brat. No record besides a DWI when he was in college." They stood in silence for a few minutes, their eyes on the pictures that had been grouped and re-grouped a dozen times, notes scribbled next to them. "You know I'm starting to think we're focusing on the wrong person? We know Chelsea has a shady past, nothing like this that we know of. But what if she blames Abbott for her husband's death? What if Bingham was helping her get revenge?"

"No," Kevin said, no trace of sleep in his defiant tone. "No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. I mean, I know Chelsea's done bad stuff. Believe me, I know, but after Delia… She was Chloe's friend, man."

"You know, Fisher, I think you should go home. Get some rest. You're too close to this case."

"No. No. No. I'm not. I have to stay." He went back to his desk and planted himself there, daring Harding to force him out of the station. "Look, Billy and I aren't exactly friends, and I know people can shock you, in a, in a good way or a bad way. I'm proof of that. But I have to find out who did this."

"Even if Chelsea's involved?"

"Yep," he answered truthfully. "I owe it to Delia. And her mom. And Victoria. Everybody who's suffered enough."

"Okay," Harding conceded. "Then see what else you can find out about Bingham and Lawson. Everything in the last 20 years and the last two minutes. I want to know their every move."

Kevin was all set to hunker down with his laptop when the shrill ring of the telephone filled the squad room. A uniform picked it up, and called out across the room. "Harding. It's for you. Someone about the Abbott case."

Harding sighed, but signaled the officer to transfer the call to his desk. Just as he did, his cell phone rang, too. "It's the hospital," he said to Fisher and quickly answered it while his desk phone continued to ring.

"Okay. Okay," he said into his phone. Kevin looked on without breathing as Harding put his coat on before the call ended. He was nearly out the door when he called back to his unofficial partner. "Abbott's awake. I gotta get down there. Can you answer that?"

"Wait. Is he okay? What's…." But Harding was already gone, and the phone continued to ring.

"Hello?" Kevin snapped. The crackling voice on the other end asked if she was speaking to Detective Mark Harding. "No, he had to step out, but I can—"

The line clicked dead before he could finish his sentence, and Kevin hung up without giving the call a second thought. He had work to do and coffee to make if he was going to find out everything he could about Gabriel Bingham and Chelsea Lawson.

* * *

"Okay, Mr. Abbott, I'm going to need you to cough, and then you'll be free of this thing."

"Doctor, are you sure? I mean, are you sure he's ready to come off the ventilator?"

Billy cut his eyes towards his mother standing against the back wall of the room. She stood next to Jack, her arms holding herself in lieu of holding him it seemed. Both of them were smiling, but their joy seemed tempered with a fear and a knowing of things that Billy didn't begin to understand.

"Yes, Mrs. Atkin-Jill. Yes. He passed the test."

Relieved, Billy cut his eyes back towards the doctor and saw he'd never looked away. His hands were still poised over his mouth, his eyes waiting for Billy to give the sign. He wasted no time and nodded he was ready, then coughed. It hurt, and the first breath was a struggle. An oxygen mask was put over his face immediately, and then began question after question as the doctor asked him to breathe in and out, again and again, putting the stethoscope here and then there. He shone a light in Billy's eyes, and poked and prodded, asking if this hurt, if that hurt. Billy endured it all. It was the only thing he could do, but all the while, his eyes darted back and forth to the door. Where was she? Had it all been a dream? Had he imagined her sleeping there beside him? Had he fallen right back out of the rabbit hole?

"Oh, Billy," his mother said as the doctor finished up. She was on him again, right at his side, Jack right at hers. They loved him. They told him that, and he saw it in their eyes and suddenly felt the need to tell them the same. He reached up and pulled the mask away from his face. His throat was scratchy, and his first attempts weren't successful. "Love you, too," he finally managed in a raspy, hoarse whisper, and then another word. "Victoria…"

It didn't come as a surprise to either Jack or Jill, or even Dr. Walker as he scribbled a few final notes in Billy's chart. But what did surprise them as they each searched the same four walls, the same door that hadn't opened in a while, was that she wasn't there.

"She'll be back soon," Jill promised without right or reason.

"I'm sure she's just checking on the kids," Jack added. "She's…she's been here the whole time, Billy. Fighting for you. Fighting for all of us."

"What happened?" Billy squeaked out, and the other three in the room looked to each other for an answer.

"Do you know where you are, Billy?" Dr. Walker asked, taking the lead.

"Hospital."

"Do you know why you're here?"

It seemed a stupid question to ask a man attached to so many wires, so many machines, but as Billy looked at each injury he could see, the only thing that became clearer was his confusion. He nodded his head side to side, and noted the looks of concern his answer drew.

"Do you remember anything that happened?" Jack asked patiently as the door to his room opened and all eyes turned, expecting to see Victoria. It was a man, though, a tall, burly man, with a badge hanging around his neck.

"I'd like the answer to that question as well," the man said and approached Billy's bed. "Detective Harding, Mr. Abbott. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your accident."

"What do you remember?" Jack asked him again. He seemed to be holding his breath. They all did, as Billy looked from one expectant face to the next. He recognized the cop. He worked with Kevin. And there was something else. He'd been there that night, the night he broke Victoria's heart. The night of the fundraiser in DeeDee's honor. In Deedee's honor…

"Delia," Billy rasped to Jack. "Delia died."

Jill inhaled sharply and clutched at her chest. Jack's eyes welled with tears as he placed a hand against his brother's wet cheek.

"Okay, that's enough," Dr. Walker said.

"I just have a few questions, though, Doc," Harding said, but the doctor didn't care.

"Not today. My patient needs his rest. He clearly seems to be suffering from short-term memory loss, which is not uncommon after a head injury. And his throat will be quite sore for a few days. It won't do anyone any good to continue this today, detective. My patient especially."

No one argued with the doctor. Family was permitted to stay as long as they followed his orders, but Dr. Walker personally escorted the detective from the ICU, leaving him with a second warning at the elevators. Harding gave his word, but he didn't leave. He wasn't giving up just yet. He couldn't. Though the victim was awake, it seemed time was running out faster now than before.

* * *

Nicholas came as soon as she called. He was the only person she trusted to give her a ride home and not ask more questions than she was willing to answer, not about Billy or why she left the hospital without her purse or car keys or even her coat. Johnny and Katie were already home when she got there, thanks to Summer, and Victoria covered both their little faces with kisses as soon as she saw them. And when Johnny inevitably asked when he could see Daddy, she smiled, finally able to tell him "soon" with more than just hope.

Summer offered to stay a while so Victoria could get cleaned up. She agreed, appreciative of the help but also sensing there was more to her niece's offer. She left Johnny with Summer and took Katie upstairs to nurse before her morning nap. Once she was down and after a quick shower, she headed back downstairs to relieve Summer. She needed to keep busy, distracted, so her mind wouldn't dwell on Billy. And whether or not she should have stayed.

"Coffee?" Summer must have heard her coming. She met her at the bottom of the stairs with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Over her niece's shoulder, Johnny was quietly occupied with his blocks and his favorite cartoon, and the house appeared immaculate, newly cleaned.

"Oh, thank you," Victoria said, gratefully accepting the mug and taking a long sip.

"I made you some breakfast, too," Summer chirped and then dipped her head. "Well, I guess it's brunch now, but I didn't figure you had a chance to eat."

"Summer, you didn't have to do that."

"It's nothing fancy. Really, Aunt Vicky. Just scrambled eggs and toast and fruit. Pretty much all I can make. But I'm trying to learn since…"

Victoria saw her glance down at her left hand and the quick shadow of uncertainty or maybe sadness that passed over her face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, a new bright smile chasing it away, a bad habit too many woman learned from the cradle. She matched her niece's grin and linked their arms together as they walked towards the dining room. "Yes, my darling niece, it seems you've inherited my cooking ability. I seem to recall a Thanksgiving you put your own spin on stuffing the turkey?"

"Oh, yeah. The crayons," Summer said as they both succumbed to a fit of giggles that earned them a momentary glance from Johnny.

"That's certainly a Thanksgiving the Newmans will never forget," Victoria said, taking a seat at the table. She remembered that year well, the year they'd almost lost her father, the year they did lose Colleen, the first Thanksgiving she'd spent with Billy and their kids. She could picture them now at Crimson Lights, a bright-eyed, happy baby Delia on her father's lap, Reed playing peek-a-boo with her. Little had she known then how life was about to change, how soon every thought would lead her back to Billy, when all she wanted to do was forget.

Victoria felt Summer's eyes on her and quickly shook off the memories and regret, shoving a bite of eggs into her mouth. "This is really good," she smiled and took another bite. "I needed it. Thank you."

The young woman smiled and blushed, pleased with herself, but again, Victoria noticed her gaze drifting to her wedding band and the tinge of sadness in her smile when she saw it. Nick had told her last night that Summer had been spending a lot of time at the ranch, more than seemed normal for most newlyweds. It had pleased him, the thought of trouble in wedded paradise, but Victoria knew more than anyone the challenges of marrying young.

"So how are you? How's married life?"

"It's…fine. It's good," Summer stammered. There was nothing convincing about her answer, and instead of letting her off the hook, Victoria reached across the table and put her hand on top of her niece's. Summer exhaled loudly, and the truth tumbled out with her breath. "It's just that…it's not exactly what I expected. I guess."

"You know I was younger than you when I got married. The first time I got married," she added with a smile. "It wasn't exactly what I expected either. So, if you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks, Aunt Vicky. But you've got enough stuff going on, and it's really not that important."

"Hey. Come here. I am never too busy for you. You come to me anytime. Anytime. You got that?" Summer nodded, and they both laughed as Victoria inadvertently mimicked her father. Victoria scooted her chair closer and reached out to hug her niece as the laughter faded and they grew serious again. "Can I give you one piece of advice, from someone who's had just a little bit of experience in this department?"

"Yes. Please."

"You're allowed to change your mind, Summer. You are a smart and beautiful and capable young woman, more capable than even you know right now. You can do and be anything you want, but only do something for you. Not because someone else wants you to. And not to prove a point to anyone else."

"Okay," Summer promised, and satisfied, Victoria turned her head to check on Johnny and the fortress he was building on the coffee table. "Can I ask you something now, Aunt Vicky?"

"Of course," she said without taking her eyes off her son.

"Is Uncle Billy really going to be okay?"

The fortress came tumbling down without warning, and Johnny grinned at the destruction. "I don't…I don't know," she admitted, her eyes turning down to her lap. It had been long enough, too long, and it was indeed okay to change her mind. "I should call and check on him."

"Stay. I'll…go check on Katie or something."

As Summer climbed the stairs, Victoria found her phone on the desk where she had left it when she walked through the door. She had texts and calls from her parents, who had no doubt heard about the change in Billy's condition by now. But it was the voicemail from Ashley that caught her eye and made her nervous.

"Hey, Vicky," she heard when she played it back. The pleasant tone eased her nerves. "Everybody's sort of wondering where you are. I, uh, I looked for you in the chapel, but you weren't there. I hope you're okay." There was a long pause, and Victoria imagined Ashley trying to determine which words to choose next. "Billy's doing pretty good. He's off…well, I think you should see for yourself how he's doing." Another pause. "He's asked about you. A few times, actually. He wants to see you. I understand if you're …a little uncertain. But I think it would be good for him. For both of you, actually."

The rest of the message trailed off as she held her phone to her chest and watched as Johnny rebuilt his fortress, more careful than the last time, learning from his mistakes.

* * *

There was something less scary about stepping off the elevator this time. The words "Intensive Care" didn't quite hold the same power knowing that Billy was awake and off the ventilator. And yet, knowing that Billy was awake triggered something greater than butterflies in her stomach.

"Yo, Newman," she heard as she passed the nurse's station. It didn't sound like it was intended for her. No one had ever called her that, certainly not in such a…rugged caveman-like way. But when she saw the rugged, caveman-like detective heading towards her, she knew without a doubt it was intended for her.

"Hi…Harding," she said as he folded his arms and blocked her path with his body.

"Glad I ran into you, Newman. Your boy's awake, you know?"

She blushed at the possessive reference to Billy, and though she wanted to correct him, it seemed easier to just let the comment slip by. "Yes, I know. I was with…" She paused and shook her head to change the course of the conversation. "Look, I'm glad I ran into you, too. I want to apologize for the way I behaved last night. I was really—"

"Hey, naw. That? No apology necessary. Comes with the territory."

He was being nice to her, but it didn't seem fake or leading. Beneath his cop exterior, there was genuine interest and concern. "Good," she smiled. "Because I'm really, really bad at apologies. Just ask Billy."

"Yeah, well, might not be the best time to ask him. Seems he doesn't remember a whole lot. The doc says it's temporary, though."

"Oh." Victoria searched for something else to say, but her mind was no longer in the conversation. Billy was awake, and that was the important thing. But she hadn't considered long-term effects, for him or for his case.

"Hey, I gotta get going," Harding said, taking a cue from her. "Gotta follow a lead. But um, I owe you a donut. And I always repay my debts."

He flashed a smile, and for some reason, despite herself, Victoria blushed as she walked away. Harding watched her until she vanished, and then headed for the elevators, his phone to his ear.

"He doesn't remember anything. Doc said it may be a few days. But we can't wait any longer. They could be out of the country by then. I need you to bring them in tonight. Both of them. We'll let them sweat. See who turns on who. And uh, do me a favor? Make sure Fisher's gone before you bring them in."

* * *

He wasn't on the ventilator anymore. Ashley hadn't told her that. He still had cuts and bruises and a cast on his arm, an oxygen tube at his nose, but he looked like Billy. He looked like her Billy, and though she tried to control it, her heart fluttered right along with the butterflies in her stomach.

He was alone, and she watched him through a corner of the window for a while before working up the courage to enter. He had Johnny's green dinosaur in his lap, studying it intensely, but when she opened the door, he looked up with exasperation, ready throw it.

"Hi," she said softly, nervously as their eyes met for the second time today. It was Billy who smiled this time, that smile she'd almost forgotten how much she loved.

"Hi." His voice was scratchy and softer than hers, but it was his.

"I'm sorry. I can…leave or come back or…"

"No. No. Stay."

She did, letting the door close behind her, but she ventured little further inside. It was awkward, and unreal. That he was there. That they were there. That there was so much space between them.

"So, um, how are you feeling?"

"Awake." He said simply, the green dinosaur still looking up at him.

She smiled and laughed gently, but his face was serious, a sadness she knew all too well in his eyes.

"I feel awake, Vic, Victoria. More awake than I have in a…a really long time." His gaze was intense and filled with regret. It seared into her soul, and his good hand fidgeted angrily against green fur. There was nothing she could say. She didn't know what he remembered, what he'd forgotten, and now wasn't the time to figure that out, to figure anything out. So she stood there. She just stood there in the middle of his hospital room and waited for the moment to pass.

And it did pass. His gaze softened, and he released Johnny's toy from his grip. "Jack said you were here the whole time. Thank you. It uh…"

"Not the whole time," she conceded with a smile, and her boots clicked across the floor as she made her way to the chair, her chair, by his side. "I had the kids and everything, so…"

He smiled, and then his smile widened. "How are they?"

"Good. They're at home with Summer. Until I get back. They've been with Nick and…" she almost said her parents but thought better of bringing up her father. "Johnny got to go sledding yesterday. He had so much fun, couldn't stop talking about it. He's missed you, Billy. They both have."

She stopped just short of watery eyes, hers and his. His eyes had barely left hers since she walked in the door, but at the mention of the kids, they took leave of her and sought out the pictures of their kids that livened the room, Delia and Reed and Johnny, and Katherine Rose.

"I've missed so much," he said when he reached the picture of Katie he'd never seen before. "I can't wait to see them. I need to see them so bad."

He looked back at her with such joy and anticipation that she hated to temper it with reality. "Billy…I think it's going to be a little while still before you can see them."

"Why? What's…"

"You're a little-a little beat up. Johnny would be…I'm afraid it wouldn't be good for him to see you like this. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

He wanted to be angry, and she could tell he was a little bit. For that she was sorry and because of that, she reached for her purse she'd left behind that morning and prepared to leave. But he stopped her

"No, you're right. I just…"

I know," she said, and he knew that she more than anyone did understand. "I should um, I should still get going, though. Let you get some rest."

"Not yet," he pleaded as much with his eyes as his words. He reached for her with his thumb, and it was all he needed to make her stay even though he did look tired. He was fighting it, though, but she understood. She'd been there, afraid to close her eyes, afraid she might not wake back up.

"You do all this?" he asked when settled into the chair once more. He gestured towards the pictures, the dinosaur, the pink blanket that still covered his legs.

She nodded.

"And this? What about this? What the hell is this?" He flicked his wrist at the little tin of balm on the table next to her. His scratchy voice was getting scratchier, and his words were getting loopy. He was drunk on lack of sleep, and probably a good amount of pain medicine. But she humored him as much as she could.

"It's for your cuts. To make them heal faster. You should put it on them. Now." She picked it up and handed it to him, but he didn't take it. He lifted up his right arm, showing her the hardened plaster.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

She sighed and smiled at the same time. "Well the nurses can do it or your—"

"Please don't say my mom. Please. No. Uh-uh." He rubbed at his throat, and Victoria knew she needed to make him rest, stop talking at least.

"Fine. I'll do it." But she hesitated. It was one thing to care for him when he was unconscious. It was another when he was staring at her, a million thoughts darkening his eyes, none of them spoken. She fumbled with lid, finally unscrewing it so that the scent of coconut teased their noses.

"Smells like Jamaica," he murmured.

"It's coconut oil," she said and dipped her finger into the creamy mixture. "But that's all you're getting out of me."

"That's enough," he smiled as she touched the first injury on his hand and rubbed the balm into it in slow, lazy circles. "For now."

He was asleep by the time she reached his elbow, but she stayed until every cut and every burn had been tended to. When she was finished, she kissed him on the forehead and slipped the tin of balm into a drawer where only she would know where it was.

She slept that night, too, in her own bed, her children safely tucked into theirs. There were still so many questions and doubts and fears, but her heart was settled and at peace knowing that the biggest hurdle was over. He was still with them, and as long as he was still with them, she could face anything.

But while she slept, across town, a burly detective rose from a nap to peer into two interrogation rooms, their silent occupants slowly giving away their guilt. But it wasn't enough. He needed something, a break, anything to make them spill.

Harding downed two more Pixy Stix, purple ones this time, and when the sugar dissolved on his tongue, he turned to head back to the interrogation rooms. But the phone rang, and he almost didn't answer it.

"Harding," he said, and a woman, her voice purposely disguised responded..

"This is detective Mark Harding?"

"Yeah. What is it?"

"Gabriel Bingham's dead."

The line went dead, and Detective Harding stood holding the buzzing receiver, his head turned towards the interrogation room that held Gabriel Bingham.


	7. Chapter 7

Balm

Chapter 7

If he could just keep his eyes closed, he could stay in paradise a little longer. If he could just focus on the sun and the warm scent of coconut, the feel of her fingertips on his skin, then he could block out the summoning beeps and the incessant noise of memory. And if he were still enough, he would surely feel the sway of a hammock and stave off the dark, damp hell that was waiting for him.

His eyes were traitors, though, and the hell he woke to was surprisingly bright and sterile. And empty. His hand was empty when he expected it not to be, and so were the chairs on either side of the bed with rails like a toddler's. His legs spread out in front of him, the bottom half covered in a twisted snake of pink chenille, and a bright green dinosaur stared up at him with big, expressionless eyes. He was in the hospital. He remembered that now. And Victoria had been there. That part of the dream was real, as real as the pain that had surfaced overnight and settled in his flesh and bones, in the arm covered in hardened plaster, in his throbbing head, his ribs, his chest. His heart.

The emptiness didn't last long. The door to his hospital room swung open, and no one he knew entered. It was a nurse in aqua scrubs. She was chirpy without speaking and carried a bag of clear liquid in her hands.

"Hey, Mr. Abbott. How are you feeling this morning? Any pain?"

She didn't wait for Billy to answer before replacing his IV bag with the new one. He tried to speak and only then remembered a doctor saying his throat would be sore. That was true, so he lied to her with a nod of his head instead. He wanted to add that Mr. Abbott was his father, and his father was a good man, but the rawness in his throat made that confession wait for another day.

"No pain?" she questioned again, and again he shook his head as she wrote something in his chart. She was tiny and young, too young for him to consider her more than a girl. She had her whole in front of her, and Billy suddenly wanted to know her father, speak to him, tell him how lucky he was. And if she had a boyfriend, or a lover, someone who slept beside her at night, he wanted to tell him things too, things Billy would spend the rest of his life having learned too late.

"She'll be back." Billy jerked his eyes back in the direction of the saccharine-sweet voice. His gaze had fallen on the empty chair beside him, and the nurse had caught him. "Your mom," she continued with sympathy and a smile. "She just went to get coffee. Wanted me to tell you she'll be right back."

"Thanks," he mouthed and let his eyelids close while she continued her morning duties. Jamaica had only been a dream, a dream that drifted farther from him with each beep that reminded him this was reality.

* * *

"Okay, baby girl, do we have everything?"

The baby responded to the sound of her mother's voice, and snug in her car seat perched on the coffee table, she watched her mother frantically stumble into a pair of black pumps and then rush about the room like a mad woman, gathering items one by one, marking out their names from a mental checklist and then tossing them to their holding spot on the sofa. Katie kicked excitedly every time a cell phone or briefcase or diaper bag flew by her and landed with a soft thump.

"My coat," she called, nearly out of breath, and a giant bird of black wool breezed past the baby. "And your coat. Wait. Your coat. Your coat. Where is your coat? Where is it?" Victoria scanned the room from where she stood with no luck and then took off towards the coat closet, only to stop halfway and turn in a graceless pirouette. "You're wearing your coat," she half-laughed, half-sighed and stood there for a moment to catch her breath and make sure every taut hair of her bun was smoothed in place before taking a seat amidst their pile of belongings.

"Your mama's crazy. You know that?" Katie cooed and kicked even more excitedly at her mother's new closeness, and Victoria soaked in her daughter's calm joy while she buttoned the tiny grey pea coat she had forgotten she'd already put on her. "You look adorable. Perfect. And just in time because we are running late."

Victoria took one last deep breath and stood to smooth the wrinkles from her own outfit that she was now second-guessing. It was too late to change, though, so she slipped her winter coat on over her skirt and blouse and loaded one arm with all the bags her outing required, saving the other to grab the car seat.

She paused at the door to pull a blanket over Katie's face and wrap her scarf tight around her own neck. Her hands full again, she struggled with the doorknob, and when it finally released, Ben was standing on the other side, the cold, snowy side, his right hand frozen in mid-air, poised to knock. Victoria stumbled back at the sight of him, surprised at first to see anyone there and then surprised that it was him planning to knock on a door he had a key to. It seemed strange, and yet not so strange, almost symbolic of their relationship. But before the moment grew anymore awkward, Victoria plastered on an easy, welcoming smile that Ben accepted as an invitation. The cold air followed him inside, and though she was in a hurry, she tried to hide that fact as best she could.

"Ben. Hi. Sorry for… I, uh, I wasn't expecting to see you."

They both leaned in for a kiss, but with all the bags and the car seat, a peck on the cheek was as close as they could get. She hadn't seen him or talked to him in two days, not since the tense encounter at Memorial, but the smile on his face seemed to suggest he'd lost the edge he'd taken with her the last time they were together. Maybe it was for Katie's benefit, maybe not.

"Hey. Hey, Katie," he added and peaked under the blanket. He saw the pea coat and the tights and the fancy shoes she wore and then his eyes turned to Victoria and her attire and his smile lost a little of its confidence. "Yeah, I was…just in the neighborhood and well, I heard the good news and thought you might be home. But it looks like you guys are going somewhere?"

"Yeah. We are. The hospital, actually."

A flicker of the coldness from Saturday flashed in his eyes and his smile all but disappeared. She knew what he was thinking, knew exactly what he meant and was accusing her of when he repeated the words himself. "The hospital?"

"Yeah. Katie, she, uh, she has a check-up with the pediatrician. Remember? I, uh, I wrote it on the calendar in the kitchen."

Victoria had forced a cheery casualness in her voice, and like magic, the smile returned to his face. "Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot. You want me to go—I can go with you if you want?"

"Oh no, that's not necessary," she answered a little too quickly. "I mean, it's just a quick check up and then Hannah's picking her up so I can head to the office."

"Ok," he said, convinced, but in no hurry to leave. "I just wanted to stop by, see how you're doing. With Billy waking up and all…you gotta be relieved."

"Oh. Yeah. Of-of course. Everyone's relieved. It was pretty miraculous, actually. I mean, the doctors weren't giving him much of a chance, and then yesterday morning, he was just…awake."

"So you were there when he woke up?"

She'd said too much. She knew it as she rambled, felt it in her own rapid pulse and the smile she couldn't control. She saw it, too, in the hardening of his jaw, but it didn't keep her from remembering that incredible moment, waking up to see Billy looking at her, the feel of his hand surrounding hers. "Yes," she answered truthfully and tightened her grip on the car seat handle. Her load was getting heavy, and she didn't know how much longer she could stand there. "I was there. So was Jill, most of his family, too."

It was the truth, just not the full truth. If he pushed, then she would have to choose, lie or tell the detailed, hurtful truth. She shifted the weight of the car seat yet again and tried to push the straps of her purse and the diaper bag back to her shoulders without a free hand. The move, though not meant as such, was a cue to Ben.

"Good," he said and nodded with a smile. "I won't keep you then. Just thought I'd check in on you guys and grab a few things. Here, let me take her to the car."

He reached for the car seat, and she let him take it, appreciative of the help. But he stood there, blocking the door, an expectant look on his face. "Hey, how about you let me take you to dinner tonight? Anywhere you want."

It seemed like more of a test than an invitation, and though all she thought about was coming home to her children, she smiled and remembered the last few days hadn't been easy for him either. "Sure. Yeah. I'd love to."

"Great!" he smiled and kissed her on the lips before opening the door. "Now that the crisis is over, we can celebrate things getting back to normal."

"Yeah, normal," she echoed behind him and stepped into the cold. "Whatever that is."

* * *

The folded newspaper hit Harding squarely in his chest, hard and landing with a thud. He was awake immediately, squinting into fluorescent lights a full hour earlier than his alarm was set to go off. Fisher was standing over him, neither his stance nor his quivering lip as fixed or as harsh as he seemed to intend. He was angry, and Harding knew that he was the cause.

"Hey, Fish," he said casually, mid yawn, and stretched as far as he could on the cot he'd gotten at least a few hours rest on.

"You've got the reporters fooled, don't you? But not me."

Harding unfolded the newspaper to humor him. A photograph of Billy Abbott covered most of the front page, but a small inset of his own image interrupted the bottom right corner. Both pictures were under a headline in bold letters: Abbott Heir Out of Coma; Still No Suspects. "That's a great picture of me, isn't it? Could be a little bigger, but I get it. Rich people sell papers."

"Would you stop? I know you why you sent me out of here last night. I know you brought in Bingham and Chelsea."

Harding yawned a second time and sat up to put his shoes back on. "Yeah? And how would you know that?"

Kevin shot him a look that was a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "I'm a computer genius. I don't need to be here to know what goes on. And besides, I make the coffee around here. Coffee is very persuasive."

Harding sighed and stood, purposely using his height advantage and the uncomfortable closeness as a scare tactic. "I told you. You're too close to this. I can't risk the integrity of the investigation."

"I wouldn't do that," Kevin stated slowly, his lip and stance both firm this time. "I gave you my word I wouldn't do that even if-even if Chelsea is involved. Look, Delia's involved, too, man, because of Billy, and I wouldn't do that to her."

"It's just easier this way, Fish. For you, too."

"I have to help."

"You are helping. You're helping by working on other cases, so I can focus on this one. Like the-the, what is it…that hacking case? How's that going?"

"So that's it?" Kevin huffed. "I'm just supposed to accept that you won't let me help?"

"Yeah, Fisher, you are." He was apologetic, but unwavering. Kevin glared at him, and Harding threw his hands up. "Man, why don't you just take the day off, go hang out with that red-headed friend of yours? Let me handle this?"

"I can't. And maybe if you had ever cared about someone the way I cared about Delia then you would understand. But you've never cared about anyone but yourself, have you?" Harding stood unmoved and unmoving, a practiced response learned over the years on the force. Kevin was a damn good hacker, but he'd make a shitty cop. They both knew that, and that was why the shorter man caved, huffing one last time before walking away. Harding followed him out of the room of cots, but stopped when he reached the interrogation rooms.

"How are our visitors?" he asked the officer stationed outside both doors. It affected him more than he cared to admit that Fisher was pissed at him, but he had to shake it off. They'd been holding the pair for twelve hours now and could only legally keep them another few without charging them with something.

"Last time I looked, she was sleeping, he was pacing."

"So, they haven't admitted to anything, I guess?"

"Nope. What do you wanna do?"

Harding peered in the first door, and just as the officer had said, Lawson was asleep, her head resting on her folded arms. It was a much different picture from the last time he saw her, when she was screaming to let them go, that he had no right to keep them. Through the other window, Bingham, or whoever the hell he was had stopped pacing and was sitting as he had been for the balance of the twelve hours, stoic, cocky, calculating. And the bottle of water they'd offered him remained untouched.

"Nothing on that phone call either?" Harding asked, and without looking, knew the officer shook his head no. "They're definitely hiding something, but they're protecting someone, too. Themselves. Or each other. We have to get them to turn. Or incriminate themselves."

"What do you have in mind?"

Harding turned to face the officer and when he did, saw Fisher standing at the end of the hallway, eavesdropping defiantly. "We're gonna let one of them go," he said, his eyes glued to Fisher's. " Follow them. See what happens."

* * *

"What about here? Any pain? Tenderness?"

The doctor's hands were on his stomach, pressed against the fresh cotton of the hospital gown the smiling nurse had wrangled on him. Billy held his breath and silently counted to keep the grimace he felt on the inside from forming on his face. "It's fine," he rasped when the doctor finally eased up.

Dr. Walker slid his hands to a different spot and pressed again, his eyes challenging his patient's for the truth. "And here?" He increased the pressure and held it a little longer this time. Again, Billy held his breath and counted. "Take a deep a deep breath for me. As deep as you can."

Billy tried, but the pain was too much. He winced and pushed the offending hands away with his good hand, all the gratitude from earlier when the doctor had chased his mother from the room going with it. Dr. Walker stood without any indication of his victory, making only a quick notation in Billy's chart.

"I've scheduled you for a few tests later today," he said. "I'll check in again afterwards. And in the meantime, I'm upping your main meds."

"Uh-uh," Billy argued. "I don't-I don't want more."

The doctor studied his ornery patient from the foot of the bed. He certainly wasn't the first to refuse pain medication, even while others begged for more every time he saw them, but it seemed to happen a little sooner than most. But like with most, there was definitely an underlying emotion, pride or fear, maybe something stronger, motivating this one. "I don't ask my patients to be heroes, Mr. Abbott. Just that they do as I say. If you can't take a deep breath without doubling over in pain, then you won't take deep breaths, and if you don't take deep breaths, you'll develop pneumonia. That may not sound like a big deal, but pneumonia kills in the ICU. Is that what you want? After surviving all you've gone through, to die of pneumonia because you wouldn't take your medicine?"

Tough love had never done much good with Billy, but he was tired and in no position to argue. So he only sighed and reluctantly nodded his understanding. "Ok," Dr Walker agreed, accepting his second win of the visit. "Now, do you have any questions for me before I go?"

"Yeah. When can I get outta here?"

"Let's concentrate on getting you out of the ICU first. Then we'll talk going home."

It wasn't the answer Billy wanted to hear, and it only added to his disappointment and dejection. But all that changed when the door opened and the woman Dr. Walker had found sleeping at Billy's bedside the last three nights crept inside like a burglar, dressed all in black, her coat bundled tightly around her.

"Hi," Victoria said, to both men and to no one in particular. Her eyes darted nervously from Billy's smiling face to the doctor's perplexed one and back again. She was surprised to see Dr. Walker there. His presence panicked her, and when the bulge in the front of her coat moved and half-cried, it became obvious to everyone in the room why. The bulge wiggled again and then again and a downy head popped free. Victoria opened her mouth to defend herself or explain, but neither was needed. Dr. Walker only glanced at the smiling baby with bright blue eyes that were a perfect blend of the woman in front of him and the man in the hospital bed, no longer disappointed or dejected.

"Just don't stay too long," he ordered as he passed by them. "He needs his rest."

They were alone then, the three of them all together in a hospital room for the second time in Katherine's short life, more if you counted all the pregnancy scares. With no reason to hide anymore and the room feeling suddenly smaller than it was, Victoria freed Katie from her hiding spot and from the tiny grey pea coat. Billy stared at them the whole time, his eyes first on Victoria. She had come back. He had doubted she would, and yet here she was, beautiful, sneaky, her hair pulled back the way she had worn it on their wedding day. He loved it that way, how it exposed her neck, just begging for his lips.

And then there was the one in pink she held in her arms, the wiggling, smiling one he could hardly comprehend.

The way he was looking at them, at Katherine especially, concerned Victoria. It was almost like he'd never seen her before. The baby, too, was quiet, her eyes taking in her new surroundings, and Victoria worried she had been wrong for bringing her. But it was too late to question her instincts. She jumped in the deep end and walked closer to Billy, their child a shield against her chest. As soon as they were within reach, he extended his hand towards them, and the baby immediately, instinctively, wrapped her chubby little fingers around one of his.

"Hi," Billy breathed, and tears spilled from both eyes, rolled down both sides of his bruised face. Katie kicked her legs and cooed the way she only did when her mother spoke to her. She knew who he was. Even though it had been over a week since she'd seen him, even though he looked different and his voice was scratchy, she knew who he was. The two of them stared at each other for a long time, enamored with the other, but finally Billy looked up at Victoria and smiled. "It's our baby, Vick. We have our baby."

It should have scared her, his comment, and it did. She forced herself to remember what it was like coming out of a coma, the fuzzy realities, the blurring of past and present, fiction and truths. And also what it was like looking at that little person they had been told would never exist every single day. She swallowed her concern and did the only she could. She smiled back.

"But I thought, I thought you said…Last night…you were here last night, right? You said they were too young to come."

Victoria sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, Johnny-it would break his heart and maybe scare him to see you like this, but Katherine's only 3 months old. I thought that…that you might like to see her?"

"You were right," he said, his voice shaky, but noticeably better than the day before. "Thank you."

She smiled and lowered herself into that old familiar chair at his side. She sat Katie on the bed beside him and put her hand against her daughter's back for support. "Well we were coming anyway since this little girl had a doctor's appointment." She didn't add that Jill had called her this morning, begging her to come to the hospital because Billy was moody and depressed.

"She what? Is she, she's not sick or any-"

"No. No, no, no, no. It was just a check up, Billy. Just a check up." The panic on Billy's face only lessened slightly, a little more when she reached for his hand and all three hands were intertwined. "She's fine. I'm…nursing. Remember? She has to come more often to make sure she's gaining enough weight."

His face relaxed more, the panic gone, but remembrance and the regret associated with the things he'd forgotten took its place. There was something else there, too, something she couldn't name. "Don't worry, though, this little girl is in the 90th percentile for weight. She eats all the time."

"Just like her daddy, huh?" And just like that the smile was back.

"Speaking of which," Victoria said, "she's probably getting hungry. It's almost time for her morning nap, so we should get going, let you rest."

"No," he begged and somehow managed to cover both of their hands with his. "Can't you stay? Just a little longer?"

She should have said no, should have apologized and promised he'd see them again soon, but the look in his eyes, the need and desperation, the sadness, and something so familiar she'd missed for so long made it impossible. And when Victoria pulled a bottle from the diaper bag and Billy asked if he could do the honors, she conceded again and leaned Katherine into the crook of his arm, taking care not to hurt him or make her daughter uncomfortable. Billy was grinning ear to ear, lost in such a simple moment.

"Oh," she said, suddenly with free hands and no responsibilities. She dug in her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper she waved in the air like a flag. I almost forgot about this."

"What is it?" Billy asked, an unexplainable sinking feeling coming over him at the sight of it.

"It's from Johnny. He drew it last night. Wanted me to give it to you. He's also expecting a phone call this afternoon if you're up for it?"

"Yeah, I'm up for it," he smiled, and she swore there were tears in his eyes again. "I miss him so much."

"Not nearly as much as he misses you, Billy." She had meant it innocently enough, but they both knew and picked up on a deeper, sadder reality of the last few months. She didn't want to dwell on it and quickly unfolded the drawing and held it so he could see. "That's you with the big head," she laughed. "And that's Johnny holding a baseball bat. We signed him up for T-ball last week, and he can't stop talking about it. Says you have to show him how to slide, but I told him I was the best slider in the family."

The both laughed, and it felt good, even though winced a little in pain. Katie's eyes were starting to close, so they softened their laughter until it disappeared and the only sound in the room was the beeping and their breathing.

"Thank you," he whispered, and when she waved him off, he repeated it. "No, thank you, Vick. For everything. For bringing her. For being here. For me. And for them. For last night, too." The tension in the room was growing too uncomfortable and too familiar to handle, but Billy cracked it with a smile. "You know, that miracle balm, man, I need to develop something like that for Jabot. Look how good I look. Just look. I bet Ashley could figure out the formula. You guys patent it yet?"

"You wouldn't, Abbott."

"Look, I'm just saying it's a good product, and if the wrong person, or the right person in this case, gets her …or his…hands on it, then well…" He glanced pointedly at the drawer beside his bed, the one she stuck the tiny jar of balm in the night before. She thought he had been asleep, but now she wasn't so sure. He was clearly messing with her, and she played along, leaning forward, opening the drawer he couldn't and pulling out the object in question. She toyed with it, held it up for him to see and then ceremoniously buried it deep inside her purse. She crossed her legs in a final power move.

"Oh yeah? You just gonna let me walk around looking like –like the elephant man or Frankenstein the rest of my life? I see how it is."

"I wouldn't do that," she said politely, her back straight, her head professionally high. "I'll be back tonight. But the balm stays with me, Abbott."

"You don't have to do that, you know?" he said with a smile.

"I know," she smiled back, and against her will, she blushed.

The door suddenly opened, and Katie's heavy eyes popped open again as Victoria jumped from her chair as if she'd been burned. She expected to see a nurse or Dr. Walker coming to admonish her for staying too long, but it was Ashley who walked in instead.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked quietly and touched her heart at the sight of her niece in her brother's embrace.

"No," Victoria answered quickly and unexplainably breathless. Outside the open door, she saw Dr. Walker walk past. It was an opportunity to escape and a moment she'd been trying to find since yesterday. "In fact, do you mind if I step out for a minute? I need to…call the office. Let them know I'm going to be later than I thought."

Of course," Ashley smiled despite the look on Billy's face. Victoria grabbed her purse, but left the diaper bag and rushed out the door. Ashley stood apologetic for a moment and then slinked into the chair Victoria had just vacated. "Sorry," she said to her brother and touched one of the baby's tiny shoes. "I didn't know you had company, much less such special company."

"S'okay," he half-smiled and looked down at his daughter. The bottle was already nearly empty, her eyes struggling to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time.

"How are things? Between you two? I mean it's pretty big that she brought the baby."

"She was just being nice. It's nothing."

"I think we both know that's not true." Katie sucked down the last of her milk and sighed, full and content. Without a word, Ashley dug inside the diaper bag for a burp cloth, placed it on shoulder, and slipped the baby from her father's arm like an expert. Seeing his daughter in his sister's arms tugged at Billy, at his memory, his heart, at something he'd forgotten but was supposed to remember, something that made him angry. He scrunched his head in thought, and Ashley noticed as she placed the freshly-burped baby back where she'd gotten her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just…it's nothing. Can we just not talk about Victoria right now?"

"Sure," she smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." The curtness of his response didn't fool her.

"I take it you haven't remembered anything yet? About what happened?"

He sighed and almost asked that they go back to talking about Victoria. He remembered the visit from the detective yesterday, the questions from everyone including his family. He knew he should want to know how he ended up in the hospital, what had happened, but if were honest, he didn't really want to.

"Everybody wants me to remember," he said. Katie was fast asleep now, heavy against him, the weight of love, immeasurable love against his injured body. "The problem is, Ash, I do. I remember everything. All the bad stuff. Who I've been this last year. Who I've…who I've been with. Who I haven't been with. I don't want to remember anything else. I just want…I want my family."

* * *

She caught up with Dr. Walker at the double doors that led to the world outside the ICU. At least she thought she had, but when the tall man in the white coat turned around, she saw it wasn't him.

"Sorry," she said and searched every visible hallway before giving up and heading to the nurses' station. "Can you tell me where I can find Dr. Walker?"

The nurse behind the desk obliged her and checked what Victoria imagined was a schedule. "He's off duty right now. Probably getting some rest before his next shift. Is it an emergency? I can have him paged."

"Oh. No, it's not anything important. I'll just…catch up with him later. Thanks."

The nurse smiled and went back to what she was doing, leaving Victoria there to catch her breath and relive the last few minutes with Billy. It had been too much, felt too much like old times when it wasn't old times. And if she needed a reminder of that fact, it picked the perfect time to show up, walk off the elevator like a disheveled bull ready to plow through a china shop.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Victoria seethed and blocked Chelsea's path. She was headed straight for the ICU.

"I-I need to see Billy. I have to see him. Now. I-" The closer she got to her, the more Victoria saw she wasn't a bull after all. She was desperate and scattered, sleep-deprived or maybe drunk even.

"NO," Victoria said and shook her. Her anger was palpable, and she felt herself ready to explode. "After what you did? After everything you've done to him, Chelsea, you think I'm going to let you see him? No."

Chelsea was barely listening to her. Her eyes were on the double doors, when they could focus at all, and her body was jittery, like she was about to crawl out of her skin or make a run for it. Victoria shifted, blocking her line of vision.

"You swore to me. You remember that? It was right here in this hospital. You swore to me you loved him and that you weren't using him to get over Adam. And then you hurt him. How could you do that? After everything he's been through?"

"I-I-I I didn't. I mean, I…it was an accident, okay."

"An accident?" Victoria scoffed. "How was it an accident?"

Her eyes were wild, and she was just trying to get away. But Victoria wouldn't let her. She needed answers to something, and right now, in this moment, Chelsea was the one who could give them to her. "I don't know," the woman cried. "He knew. He knew about Gabe, and he was going to tell everybody and I couldn't let him. I just couldn't let him, Victoria. That's why I need to see him. I have to talk to Billy. I have to convince him not to tell about Adam. I can't lose him again."

She was hysterical. Completely hysterical. She was muttering nonsense, nonsense that made Victoria's blood run cold, colder than normal. Something wasn't right. Something was completely wrong, and Victoria felt sick to her stomach.

"Adam?" she said with a deadly calm. "It was Adam."


	8. Chapter 8

Balm

Chapter 8

Adam.

In the breath of two syllables, the air thinned to almost nothing. Like vapor. As hard to breathe as glass. It was air like Switzerland the first time her young lungs breathed in shallow and tremulous, her tiny hand inside her father's until it wasn't anymore. This moment felt just as monumental, as whole life-changing, and the more she gulped for that nonexistent air, the more it burned in her lungs and shattered at her feet.

Another breath and all the blood rushed from her head, and the world began to spin, each corridor of the hospital swirling around her like menacing arms of an octopus. Victoria placed her hand on her stomach to steady herself as piece after piece, memory after memory fell into place. Chelsea's accidental confession. The last line of Billy's goodbye letter. Dozens of moments and encounters, comments and eerie, familiar feelings that alone meant nothing but now, now they all braided together into one impossible truth. The stranger who had infiltrated their lives was no stranger.

"Adam's alive."

The realization slipped from her lips involuntarily, and the woman Victoria had almost forgotten about came into focus, her mouth agape, her mascara-ringed eyes filled with terror and instant regret. Victoria saw her desperation gather into an instinct to run, but what Chelsea didn't see, what a good con should have seen and would have seen, was Victoria's simultaneous transition, the same transition that took place when her younger self stood outside that formidable stone building, abandoned by all that was familiar. Her spine straightened, a cold, impenetrable wall formed around her heart like Kevlar, and she forced her lungs to thrive on the thin, glassy air. She was a Newman, but it was more than being Newman. It was survivor's instinct. It was being born the eye in a family of hurricanes.

"Adam's alive," she repeated like a heartbeat, stronger, accusing, and before Chelsea could bolt, Victoria grabbed her wrist, chaining her to the moment. She wasn't letting her get away, not when the answers they had all been looking for were staring her in the face. Not when Billy was lying in the ICU hurting in so many ways. "He's alive, and he's been living right under our noses for months."

Chelsea flinched at the strong hold on her arm, but only barely fought it. She blinked at least a dozen times as a lie attempted to form on her tongue. "Th-that's crazy, Victoria. You're-you're obviously tired, a-and—"

"Don't lie to me. Don't you dare lie to me," Victoria seethed. Her fingertips dug deeper into Chelsea's wrist, probably hurting her, but she didn't care. She did care that they were too in the open, though, that the nurse who eyed them strangely from behind her desk was only one of any number of eyes and ears that could witness their altercation. Victoria smiled reassuringly at the nurse and then calmly pulled her companion down one of the corridors. It was empty and quiet, but despite the quietness, neither woman heard the man that followed them, his heart racing with fury as he leaned his head as close to them as possible without being discovered.

"What are you doing? Let me go." Chelsea struggled to pull her arm free, but she didn't need to. Victoria released her as soon as they were alone, convinced that privacy and the wall she had her trapped against were enough to keep her from escaping.

"Answer me. Adam's alive. He did this, didn't he?"

"I told you. You're crazy. My husband is…he's…he's."

"Dead? Is that the word you're looking for?" Victoria stepped closer, her heels allowing her to tower over Chelsea more than usual. "You can't even say the word, can you? Because it isn't true. Adam isn't dead. It's not even the first time he's faked his death, Chelsea."

"He didn't fake his death, Victoria. Not this time." Some fire had returned to her. She was ready to fight. And though she hadn't said the exact words, Chelsea had just confirmed Victoria's accusations, and that realization sank in her soul like stones. Billy had tried to tell her. He had tried to tell her that Adam was responsible, that her brother was the reason he was in the hospital, cut, bruised, bandaged, holding on to life with his fingertips.

"He didn't," Chelsea said again, completely oblivious to Victoria's vulnerability. "Adam did almost die. And he would have if-if a complete stranger hadn't pulled him from that car. He would've died, Victoria. Because of Billy. Because Billy kidnapped him at gunpoint and tortured him."

"And that's what this is? That's why Billy's here? In the ICU? Still fighting for his life? For revenge?" She was angry and loud, and didn't care who heard her. Fists formed at her side, and it took all of her restraint not to succumb to violence. "He killed his little girl, Chelsea. Adam killed his little girl, and you're still defending him."

"It was an accident, Victoria."

"An accident? You keep saying that word. Stop saying that word. Nothing's an accident when it comes to Adam. Nothing. He is cold and calculating and cowardly. But he's not getting away it. Not this time. Not for what he did to Delia. And not for what he did to Billy."

Victoria turned to go. She didn't need the details from Chelsea, didn't even want to know how she was involved. She only needed justice for Delia and Billy, their whole family, but it was her wrist this time that was grabbed, so suddenly she stumbled in her heels and reached for the wall to keep from falling.

"You can't do that. You can't tell, and you can't let Billy tell anyone it was Adam." Chelsea's eyes weren't full of terror or regret anymore. They were darker, angrier, like when she first came to town, full of lies and agendas.

Victoria returned her vengeful gaze and with her free hand pulled Chelsea's from her wrist. "Watch me."

"If you go to the police, if Adam goes to jail, so does Billy." Victoria paused her retreat once again and turned to face Chelsea. Desperation had returned to her face. Her accusation was clearly a Hail Mary, but even so, there was something in the claim that made Victoria's heart skip a beat. "Billy shot Adam," she continued, "He tell you that? I didn't think so, but he did. Last year when he kidnapped him. So, if the police find out anything about Adam, they're gonna hear about how your husband attempted to murder mine. Is that what you want?"

"I'm supposed to believe you? You're in this up to your eyeballs, too."

"He has the scar to prove it," she smirked, and Victoria was afraid to believe anything anymore. She knew Billy wasn't a murderer, but she hadn't even known he had a gun in their house last year. She hadn't known a lot of things about him then.

"Like anyone would blame him? After what Adam did?"

"That a chance you're willing to take?" Chelsea asked. "Risk having to take your children to visit their father in jail?" Victoria remained stoic and silent. She would not react, would show no fear. "You make sure Billy keeps his mouth shut," she threatened before finally making her escape, breezing past Kevin without seeing him, stepping onto a waiting elevator before Victoria could fill her lungs with unusable thin air.

Seconds passed, and Kevin rounded the corner, looking green. Victoria was too numb to be surprised to see him, but the look on his face told her he had heard every word. He knew. "He's at the police station," he said simply, a shared heartache passing between them. And then he rounded the corner as silently as he had appeared, his head down, hands in pockets.

It was too much. It was all too much. Victoria covered her face with her hands and leaned her back against the cool wall. She then folded her body in half, forcing blood back into her head. When she rose back up, Ashley was coming towards her, Katie sound asleep against her shoulder, Ashley's arm securely beneath her daughter's ruffled bottom..

"Hey! There you are," Ashley smiled.

"Hi," Victoria breathed and placed her hand against her baby's back. The touch was needed and immediately calming. "Is something-something wrong?"

Ashley narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "I think I should be asking you that."

"Oh." Victoria smoothed her hair back and exhaled a forced laughed. "No, everything-everything's fine. It's just…the office. I need to get to the office. Is Billy okay?"

Ashley's face didn't seem convinced, but she didn't push the subject. "Yeah, he's fine. The nurse brought his pain medicine and he passed right out. Just like this little one." Ashley smiled and cuddled her niece closer. Seeing the two of them together, Ashley holding her baby girl, conjured the memory of the night she gave Faith back to Nick and Sharon. Because of Adam. It was all because of Adam. He had hurt so many people she cared about.

"You think you could watch her for a few minutes?" Victoria asked and smoothed Katie's dress down. "Just until Hannah gets here? I really need to take care of something."

"Of course, Victoria. I would love to spend some more time with my niece."

"Thanks," she smiled gratefully and pressed a fingertip to her lips before placing it against her daughter's cheek. She practically raced herself to the elevators, but once inside, she held her breath. She only had eight floors to decide what to do next.

* * *

The pain meds were starting to wear off, leaving Billy to limbo between pain and numbness, never really belonging to either state. He preferred the pain. He deserved the pain. Pain was real and clear, and there was enough uncertainty in his brain without the grogginess of morphine. And he needed to be real and clear and awake if he was going to talk to his son. And he was. Victoria had promised there would be a phone call, and her promises meant something.

He was starting to worry, though. He'd been alone since he woke up, no sign of Victoria or Ashley, his mother, anyone. But their scents still lingered, especially the dried spot on his hospital gown that carried the perfume of baby's breath. His arm still ached where his daughter had lain. The missing weight of her hurt deep, all the way to his heart. It seemed like forever since he'd seen his kids, even longer since he'd been present with them, completely present. But he knew it hadn't been more than a few days, just over a week based on the pieces of information he'd been able to gather. It had been Valentine's Day the last time he saw them, Delia's birthday.

Billy closed his eyes purposely and tried to conjure that day. It wasn't as hard as he imagined, maybe because the fog of morphine was wearing off or maybe because, like the doctor had said, his memories would come back to him a little at a time. He just had to be patient and not force it.

He remembered being in their house that day, though it wasn't his anymore. He remembered the toys strewn across the sofa and saw clearly the tower of blocks on the coffee table and Johnny's face lit up at their achievement in architecture. He remembered sweet Katie and a scent identical to the one on his shoulder. And Victoria, trying hard to make things comfortable and okay for the kids, though it seemed like there would always be eggshells between them. Thanks to him.

But things had been good that day, he remembered, or hoped. Sad, but good. When both kids had settled down for their naps, their new stuffed animals tucked in with them, he'd stayed and they'd talked. About Delia. About all the kids. And other things. He could see her face clearly in his memory, the soft pink of her cheeks, the blue of her eyes, and every sad and good emotion that passed across them. He remembered the lightness he felt when he finally said goodbye, a resolve in his spirit that carried him to Delia's memorial. But after that, there was nothing, nothing but flashes of dark and cold and pain. His eyes flew open then, just in time, and Billy was cognizant enough to know that part of his memory block was a choice.

Every minute that passed added to his anxiousness, and when the door opened and the same nurse from this morning entered, his heart dropped. He feared she had come bearing more medicine that would make him drowsy and unable to talk to Johnny, but as she neared the bed, he saw she was no longer wearing her aqua scrubs. She was in jeans, her hair down, and she carried a winter coat across her arm.

"Hey, Mr. Abbott," she smiled and went straight for the phone beside his bed. "Glad you're awake. You feeling up to a phone call?"

"You bet," he managed to say, and though there were questions he wanted to ask, like where everyone was, he didn't. He just watched her dial numbers from a piece of paper and then place the receiver gently against his shoulder. "Okay. Just hit the call button when you're done, and a nurse will come to hang it up. See you tomorrow."

"Thanks," he said and returned her smile as the first shrill ring met his ears. She was gone by the second, and in the middle of the third, the ringing stopped and all he could hear was soft, excited breathing and whispered instructions from Hannah.

"Hell-wo?"

"Hey, buddy."

"Daddy!"

It didn't matter how much his face hurt from smiling or his ribs from laughing. The sound of his son's voice was worth every second of pain. And he was beyond grateful that Johnny was happy to hear from him. That had been a real and possible fear.

"Yeah, it's me," Billy said. "Sorry I haven't been around in a few days, but uh, I'm gonna see you real soon, okay? And after that…after that, you're never gonna get rid of me. That sound good?"

"Yes," his little boy said shyly, and then just like an almost three-year-old, the conversation turned quickly."

"Daddy, I went swedding."

"You did? Tell me all about it."

And he did. As Billy sank comfortably against the hospital bed, Johnny rattled off every detail of the last two days. He told him about sledding with Nick and signing up for T-Ball, and spending the night with Faith. It was all the pain medicine he needed. This was his son. Johnny was his son, and he'd forgotten it for too long. But not anymore.

* * *

The police station was only moderately busy when she walked in, a fraction of the chaos still inside her head. An older woman with a large purse and an even larger coat was giving a dramatic account of her runaway dog to a uniformed officer who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Two other officers paraded a wobbly gentleman with cuffed hands past her, so close she had to turn her shoulder inward to keep from being hit by them. Victoria averted her eyes from the trio and looked past the lady with the missing dog and all the other desks in the squad room until she saw a face she recognized.

Detective Harding didn't see her right away. His eyes were glued to his desk, but the sight of him was an instant sucker punch to her gut, and doubt spread warm like pain through her body. It wasn't instinct or reason that brought her here, or even Kevin's words. She'd driven for hours after leaving the hospital, formulating one plan after another, each previous one ending in a change of heart and a sudden u-turn in an icy driveway or parking lot. She was there again now, though, second-guessing herself, ready to make a u-turn, certain that this too was the wrong move. But she had waited too long to change her mind, and Harding looked up from his desk, blinked the vision back into his eyes and saw her. He didn't seem exactly pleased to see her. In fact he spent a few seconds staring at her like he was trying to read her, but then without warning, he stood and smiled.

"Newman," he called from across the room and gestured with his head for her to come to him. It was too late to run, so she swallowed hard and did as she was raised to do, lifted her chin to a hoity height and forced her lips into a casual but professional smile. They met halfway, in the middle of the squad room, and Harding held up a folded newspaper in front of her. "Guess you saw the paper, huh? Not the most flattering picture I admit, but what can you do?"

She stared at him in confusion until he ceremoniously shook the paper open and the front page she'd quickly hidden from Johnny this morning stared her in the face. Victoria didn't hear a word he said about pictures and good sides and journalistic integrity. The headline screamed at her and branded itself across her brain: Abbott Heir Out of Coma; Still No Suspects. _ Still no suspects. _It was a lie. This morning it had been a catchy headline about someone she loved; now she knew it was a complete and utter lie. And somewhere in this building was the proof.

"I, uh, I know it's not the news you want to hear," Harding said. There was less cockiness in his voice, and she only wondered why until she saw his eyes were lowered to her clenching fists. "So…if you've come to bust my chops about it….well then, I get it. I get it," he smiled. "But I want you to know we're close. We're really close to a break."

"I didn't- I didn't come here to bust your chops." The sincerity in his voice was unnerving and made her lower her own voice and unclench her fists. She grabbed the paper from his hands and folded it under her arm so she couldn't see Billy or the headline anymore. "I, uh, I wanted to ask a question. A legal question."

"Shoot."

His word choice was a bullet through her resolve, but she didn't let the wound weaken her, didn't even flinch. "I was wondering what the statute of limitations is for a specific crime. Say for kidnapping? Or attempted murder?"

Harding rubbed at the week-old stubble that covered his jaw like it was a genie's lamp. Then he laughed, a soft chuckle at first, but the longer Victoria stared at him waiting for an answer, the louder his laugh became and he doubled over to catch his breath. "Sorry," he wheezed, raising a hand up in apology. "Sorry. But you Newmans, you've really mastered the art of insults, haven't you? I mean you say you're not here to bust my chops about the investigation, and then you pull out a question about statue of limitations? C'mon, Newman! I told you. We're close."

"It's not-it's not about Billy's case," she stammered and pulled the newspaper from under her arm, tossing it onto the closest desk to emphasize her point. "It's not. I just…I need to know, okay? What is it? A year? Longer?"

She was serious and desperate for an answer, like the rest of the world depended on it. And that puzzled Harding. She wasn't an easy read, definitely wasn't as easy to read as most perps. Not that she was a perp. But there was definitely something going on, and Fisher's sudden appearance in the doorway all but confirmed it. He'd known that releasing Lawson would stir the hive, but Victoria Newman was the last person he expected to show up.

"That would depend," Harding muttered, more to himself than Victoria. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Kevin, whose feet seemed glued to the doorway, and so he missed her sharp intake of panic when she turned around and saw him too. He couldn't wait any longer. This case couldn't wait. "Would you excuse me? There's something I need to…"

He left her standing in the middle of the squad room. She was all nerves and failing composure as she watched him approach Kevin. She watched his lips move and tried to read the words that formed on them. He was no doubt asking about Chelsea and Adam, something to do with Billy's case, but Kevin wasn't responding. He was looking at her, and when Harding realized it, he too turned around. With Harding's back to him and his gaze preoccupied, Kevin tilted his head. It was nearly imperceptible, but he tilted his head towards the dark hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. She quickly grabbed the newspaper she had just discarded and pretended to study it until Harding turned back around and pulled Kevin into a more secluded corner of the room. Then she placed it soundlessly on the desk and slipped into the darkness.

She had been down this hallway more than once herself. On her wedding day. And the first time Adam "died." Billy had shown up both those times to save her, but not this time. This time she was on her own.

She walked slowly, but confidently, making sure her visitor tag was on display each time she passed an officer. The first room she looked in was empty, so was the second, but when she peered inside the third rectangular window, she saw the form of Gabriel Bingham hunched over a metal table. It wasn't Gabriel Bingham, though, she had to remind herself. If what Chelsea said was true, it was Adam.

She placed her palm on the handle of the door and wrapped her fingers tight around it. She hesitated, for one second and then two, and then distant footsteps beat in time with her racing heart, and fearing her time was up, she pulled the trigger and slid inside.

He didn't look up when she entered. But after a silent count of ten that told her she was in the clear, he stretched his legs out beneath the table and slouched against his chair. Still, he didn't look up, his eyes stubbornly focused on his arms folded across his chest. He was so casual, so indifferent. She didn't need to search his face for tiny scars from a surgeon's knife or new growth of hair in his natural shade. One click of her heels against the hard tile floor and she knew. The second she looked into his eyes, she knew.

"How did I miss it?" she asked, her voice stronger than she imagined it would be.

He was surprised to see her there. Surprised. Panicked. Confused. All of these he tried to cover with an act so many had fallen for.

"Victoria, right? Newman? Nicholas' sister?" He sat up and smiled politely, his posture like he was in a business meeting. "I'm uh, a little surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?"

"You can drop the act. Adam."

"I don't understand," he stammered, still fully engaged in the act of deceit. "Is this some sort of game? Are you feeling well?"

"Only you would think this was a game, Adam. But the game is over, Adam." She needed to keep saying his name, convinced it would break him, convinced it would make her stronger.

"Game? I don't—"

"Stop it!" she hissed. "Stop it." The room went deadly quiet, and he went deadly still. Victoria used the moment to reach behind her and find the door handle, the lock above. She clicked it with a harshness that echoed inside the tiny room. They were alone. There was nowhere to run. "Chelsea told me everything. Everything. She blew it, Adam. She told me what you did to him."

He flinched. She'd used his weakness, played her trump card, and he'd flinched. But still he remained speechless and stoic.

"Why?" she asked with a trembling chin. "Why? You killed his little girl."

"That was an accident. I swear. I never…I never even saw her."

"It doesn't matter. You hit her. And you never said anything. You tortured Billy for months by not telling. And Chloe. Everyone who loved her. They just wanted to know what happened."

"I'm…sorry. I am." It was the first sign of real emotion from him, but she didn't trust it. She wouldn't trust anything about him. "I was afraid. I was just afraid of losing my family."

"So you put him a coma? You kill his child and then you nearly kill him. That's how you show you're sorry?"

"No, I…" He kept looking at the door, past her to the rectangle of glass, like whatever was on the other side was preferable to her angry stance, would maybe even save him from this deserved inquisition. No one came to his rescue, and he unfolded his arms, opened himself up to the blame. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that, Victoria. When Chelsea, when she realized, when she finally realized it was me, I just wanted to take her and Connor away. Forever. That's all we planned on doing. Just go away and live our lives."

"That isn't what happened, though. Is it? Tell me. Tell me everything."

Again he looked at the door, and again, no rescue. Victoria wrapped her arms around herself, tight and protectively, in case her Kevlar heart wasn't enough. She knew the end result of the story, but she had to hear it.

"I don't know. I don't everything. Billy just…we were gonna meet, Chelsea and me, at our old house. Plan our escape. She thought it would be easy. She and Billy were fighting a lot, so clean break up, she has no reason to stay in Genoa City. But, she never showed up. Billy did. We fought, Victoria. We fought, and Billy must have hit his head on something cause there was a lot of blood and he was unconscious. We-I didn't know what to do. I thought he was…" He lowered his head and sighed in lieu of saying the word they both knew he meant.

"So you tied him up, you bastard?" She flew at him, and he stumbled to his feet, the metal chair screeching across the floor. The palm of her hand stung when she hit him, and his left cheek was instantly blood red. He grabbed her wrists to stop her, protect himself, but she beat her fists against his chest anyway. "You tied him up. And you made it look like he was drinking and driving."

"I panicked. I had my second chance with my family. I couldn't risk it."

"What about my second chance?" she cried, hating herself for the hot tears she felt on her face, hating him even more for his excuses and his selfishness. She couldn't hit him anymore. She was exhausted, and he held her wrists so she couldn't move. "What about me? Did you ever think about me? About what losing Billy would do to me? Did you ever think about what losing Delia did to me? What it was like to watch the person you love more than anything suffer? Watch him sit in front of a computer day after day looking for relief, knowing you can't do anything to help him? Huh? Did you? Did you? And then find out that it was you all along. It was you. You, who wanted so much to belong to our family. You did this. You stole my second chance."

He wouldn't look at her, and she jerked one final time and free herself, turning her back to him, walking across the room to the door.

"You can still have your second chance," he said softly behind her. "Billy's getting better, right? Just let me leave. Let me and Chelsea and Connor leave, and-"

"And what?" She wiped her eyes and spun on her heels to face him again. "You won't tell the police Billy shot you? I told you. Chelsea told me everything.

"He did, Victoria," he stated coldly and raised the tail of his shirt to reveal a small discolored circle of skin. "But a judge never has to know."

"You really think there's a judge in the entire state of Wisconsin that's gonna throw a grieving father in jail for shooting the bastard who killed his little girl?"

"I'm willing to risk it." The eyes that stared back at her were unmistakably Adam's, and once again she questioned how she hadn't seen it before. How no one had seen it. "I aim to get my second chance, sis. One way or another."

A chill slithered down her spine, and she unlocked and opened the door with one move. She couldn't breathe in there, needed to escape, but as she rounded the threshold, her body slammed into another, bigger, stronger, solid. Detective Harding held her up, the only thing keeping from hitting the floor, and out of need, she buried her head in his muscular shoulder. His embrace was full of anger, at her no doubt and what she'd done, and then it wasn't, and he held her. She saw Kevin in her periphery, watching her, looking sorry and scared.

"Please don't take him away from us again," she whispered loud enough for both to hear and then she pulled away like she'd been burned and sprinted back down the dark hallway. Harding's arms remained open in an empty embrace long after she was gone.

"What are we gonna do?" Kevin asked, slipping his hands inside his pockets and nodding towards the room Victoria had burst through. "About him?"

Harding looked inside the room at the man who was supposed to be dead, the one Kevin claimed was someone else. It was an impossible story that no detective would believe. "Arrest him."

"But Billy could go to jail," the shorter man protested. "We can't."

"Arrest him," Harding said again as he watched two dead men pace the length of the interrogation room. "It's the only way."

* * *

It was dark outside when she sank into the chair by Billy's bed. The dark was deceiving in winter, though, never honest about the hour. Traci was with him when she got there, but she rose to go when relief came in the form of Victoria.

"Have you seen Jack today?" her former sister-in-law asked as she put her coat on. "Billy asked about him earlier."

"He's taking care of something," Victoria said as she scanned Billy's sleeping form for signs of change or improvement. It wasn't a lie. Those were the words Jack had said when she called him and told him everything. About Chelsea. About Adam. About the accident and the threat of sending Billy to jail. 'I'll take care of it,' he'd assured her, and she believed him or needed to believe him.

"Work, I think," she added absently, and Traci smiled and squeezed Victoria's shoulder on her way out.

She sat there for a while, numb, spent. She was too warm in her coat, but feared she'd be cold if she took it off. So, she left it on, but slipped her aching feet from her pumps and pulled six bobby pins from her still-meticulous bun. Her hair fell in a twisted cascade that she shook free as she dropped the pins inside her purse one by one and then reached deeper to retrieve the little tin of balm.

She'd promised him she'd come back, and after today, she was grateful for the excuse. She needed to see him in the flesh. And as she dipped the pad of her finger inside the silky mixture and touched it to his skin, she realized how much more she needed to touch him. She needed to feel him, his skin and flesh, to find something she recognized of the man she'd loved so hard. So much of the last year, he'd seemed disguised as someone else, and after today, after learning he'd kept yet another secret from her, the disguise felt more real than the man.

Inch by inch, she rediscovered him, healing wounds too recent to know as she went, but discovering under them, around them, freckles and scars, muscles and bone that were etched in her heart, embedded in her body. She didn't notice he was awake until she got to the first cut on his face. His eyes were watching her with an emotion she knew unmistakably as love. She didn't say anything. Neither of them did as she continued gently rubbing balm into each wound.

"I talked to Johnny today," he murmured drowsily as she screwed the lid back on and slipped the tin back into her purse. He watched her rub the excess balm into her own skin.

"I know. He face-timed me in the parking lot just now. Told me all about it." They both smiled at the mention of their son, but Victoria's smiled flattened when he reached for her hand and looped his finger around one of hers.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. You should get some more rest, and I should—"

"Stay?" he asked with a stifled yawn. "Could you stay? For just a little longer."

It was his eyes. They never changed. They were the windows to the soul, and no amount of surgery or scars could change that. She nodded her agreement, and he smiled with his eyes more than his lips. And as his eyes drifted shut again, she curled her legs beneath her and stared at the perfect way their fingers linked together. They were out of second chances. She could admit that and accept it. But he couldn't be taken from them again. She had to believe that. Had to believe it would be taken care of.


	9. Chapter 9

Hi all,

Sorry these are still taking so long. I didn't think this one would or that it would be as long as it is, but it is what it is. I'm glad some of you are still enjoying the story and Villy in general. It's hard out there for a VIlly fan, and probably will continue to be so.

Thanks, for the continued support, Deanna and Villylover. I appreciate it. And yes, D, it is pretty weird that a similar story is playing out on our screens right now. Nothing I write is revolutionary, but it is...odd. I do hope the onscreen story mirrors the rest of mine, but like you, I have doubts.

This chapter wraps up somethings, not a lot of Villy, but it moves the story forward.

Happy reading,

Rhonda

* * *

The sound of his breathing was intoxicating, a deep, lumbering rhythm loud enough to muffle the endless beeping, gentle enough to lull her into a tingly, easy drowsiness that sabotaged her internal promise of staying 'just until he falls asleep.'"

He was asleep. He'd fallen asleep seconds after closing his eyes. She'd known it by his breathing and by the way his fingers relaxed between hers. And yet she stayed. For just a few seconds more, she told herself. Because it was warm and quiet and because for the first time since this morning, for the first time in a long time, her brain and her heart were miraculously at rest.

But seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into a soft, warm shadow that fell first across her legs and then into her lap and against her arms. She had dozed off, too, but the strange sensation startled her awake enough to see a tall, dark figure standing beside her.

"Dr. Walker?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he said in a hushed tone, his nervous eyes darting around the room, never landing on hers. "I was just…doing a final check for the night."

"You didn't wake me," she lied and pulled her hand from Billy's as she sat up straighter. Her movement shifted things, shifted her attention to her lap and a blanket that pooled there. It was the same blanket she had woken to more than once during those worst days when Billy had been unconscious. She'd always assumed it was Jill or one of the Abbots taking pity on her, transferring the care they couldn't give Billy onto her, but now it seemed the culprit was a stranger, someone she least expected. The doctor seemed embarrassed by the revelation, and not wanting to make him more uncomfortable, Victoria stood and pushed the blanket onto the chair like it had always been there.

"So, how is he? Anything new?"

"No. H-he's stable. Vitals are improving," Dr. Walker stammered, though clearly grateful for a subject he was comfortable with.

"Good. That's good, right?"

"It is," he nodded and folded his arms across his chest, Billy's chart caught between them and his white coat. "Well, I should…I've got rounds to make."

"Wait," Victoria called behind him, louder than she should have as her memory and intent from this morning returned to her like a gust of cold air. Adam was being taken care of. She had to trust that and allow her focus to be on Billy now. "Do you have a few minutes to talk? About Billy?"

"Uh….sure," he said, though his tone was unconvincing. "Should we….let him rest?"

Victoria nodded her agreement to relocate, but before following the doctor into the fluorescent hallway, she stopped at Billy's bedside and straightened his covers, spreading the pink chenille neatly across his legs, tucking the edges tightly around him. She placed three whispery kisses on his forehead, one from Johnny, one from Katherine. The last she didn't designate.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Dr. Walker asked when they were halfway down the ICU hallway. It was fairly empty, visiting hours drawing to a close, only the essential people, doctors, nurses, loved ones who couldn't be forced to leave, still filtering in and out of rooms.

"Well, first I want to thank you. For everything you've done for Billy. I, we, the whole family, we really appreciate it."

"I'm just doing my job, Ms. Newman."

"People can still be thanked for doing their jobs. That's still allowed, isn't it?" she asked with a teasing smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

"Yes," he conceded and reciprocated her smile, a rare one she could tell from the man who was more doctor than human, at least until he blushed more than when she'd woken to find him standing over her. They'd reached the double doors that protected the ICU, and he held one of them open and waited for her to walk through. "And you're welcome. But in this case, I don't think science is the main reason he's still here."

"So you do believe in miracles after all?"

"I told you. I believe things happen that can't be explained."

"Okay, then," she accepted, and her face grew serious without warning. "Now explain to me how he's really doing. Honestly."

They had continued walking, past the waiting room, past the elevators, down an empty corridor chosen without direction or purpose, the echoes of their footsteps filling the sterile space. But at her solemn request, Dr. Walker stopped them both and studied her. There was fear in face, deep fear and unrelenting worry. He placed the palm of his hand against the small of her back and directed her to a pair of chairs at the end of the hallway. "Why would you ask that? Have you noticed something?"

"He seems different," she confided and folded her fidgeting hands in her lap. "Different from before."

"Head injuries can affect personality, behavior. Just as it can memory, as we've seen with your-with Mr. Abbott," he explained calmly. "But many times, these changes are temporary, and once the injury has healed, a patient will start feeling and behaving like their old self."

"That's just it," she laughed sadly, her eyes big watery pools of heartache and hope. "Billy's seemed more like himself in the last few days than all of the last year. And selfishly I don't it to be temporary."

"He's suffered a head injury before, hasn't he? Recently?"

"Yeah. Just over a year ago," she sniffled. "From a car accident, ironically enough."

"Did you notice any changes in his personality after that accident?"

If he knew her, if he had known her for more than a week, he wouldn't have to ask that question. And it was starting to annoy her, his loyalty to his profession, how every question sounded like they were in a doctor's office. "Well, he did try to tackle a gunman two weeks after the accident," she said, not trying to hide her annoyance. "And then he confessed his infidelity to an entire ballroom full of people. Not to mention broke every promise he ever made to me and started a relationship with a woman who drugged him and tried to destroy our marriage. Are those the changes you're talking about? Are you saying he did all that because of a brain injury?"

She'd stunned him into silence, an uncomfortable amount time passing before his measured response. "All I'm saying is brain injuries are tough. They take a long time to heal. In Billy's case, there's still too much swelling to be sure, but from what I can tell so far, that first injury has not completely healed. And yes, that could explain why he hasn't seemed himself since."

"Yeah, well it doesn't explain why he cheated on me, does it? Or why he turned away from me after his daughter died, no matter how hard I tried to be there for him. Or how he ignored our son because it was too hard to love him. Or how he broke my heart over and over again and turned our love into a statistic. It doesn't explain any of that." She practically leapt from her chair and crossed the hall, slapping her hands hard against the smooth surface in front of her. Tears stung her eyes, blurred her vision, and she just needed to hit something. She wanted to hit Adam again, or Chelsea. Even Billy. But mostly herself for bringing it all up again.

"I'm sorry," the deep voice behind her said.

The two words vibrated against her heart, and she turned around and leaned against the wall she had just assaulted. The man in front of her wasn't the doctor she had met that first night, the one who challenged her presence, judged her even. He sat folded in half in a chair too small for his frame, his elbows resting on his knees, the fingers of his right hand stroking the ring finger of his left.

"No, I'm sorry," she said and meant it.

"You know, as a physician," he said without looking up from his hands, "I'm trained to heal the body. I can set broken bones. I can sew people back together. I can make hearts beat again. But sometimes there isn't a cure. Sometimes there's nothing I can do except…administer a drug to take away the pain…until the body heals on its own…or until it doesn't."

"As a man…" He paused, swallowed hard and looked up at her, more man than doctor, more emotion and tenderness than she thought him capable of. "As a man," he repeated, "I can tell you that grief is a powerful emotion, more powerful than love sometimes. And the mind, it's not so different from the body. It incurs wounds without cures, too, and it just, it doles out its own drug. The ancients called it nepenthe. Makes you forget. Makes you numb. Blocks out a lot of other things, too. It's not an excuse, Victoria. It's just our design."

It was the first time he called her by her first name, and the quiet, empty hallway grew even quieter. She'd forced him into this intimacy, but he hadn't backed down. "You talk from experience, don't you?" she whispered, afraid of being any louder.

"Yes," he smiled. "That's how I know Billy's recovery isn't just about cuts and bruises. Or a healing balm administered with love. I've, um, I've waited to bring this up with the family, but now seems like the right time."

"What is it?"

He stood and approached her, a doctor again, but still a man, too. "I'm going to suggest Billy see a therapist as part of his recovery plan. It's protocol for most head injuries, but I think he could benefit for the grief as well."

"We tried that. A support group. After Delia died. Let's just say it didn't go so well."

"This would be different than a support group. It would be one-on-one for starters, more intensive, specialized to Billy's needs. And the doctor I've already contacted, she's one of the best. She's been doing this almost 40 years." He could see the reticence still on her face, and opened himself up once more. "I'm not just giving my professional recommendation here, Victoria."

"Okay," she sighed. "You've convinced me. But you still have to convince Billy, so good luck."

He laughed. It was a soft laugh, but a true laugh that infected her. "I'm prepared. Now, why don't you go home? Get some rest, spend some time with that little girl of yours. Doctor's orders."

"That sounds like exactly what I need, a nice quiet evening on the couch with my babies."

"And food. Don't forget to eat. You need your strength."

"Yes, doctor," she said as they turned to walk back down the hallway. "Dinner will definitely be part of…oh, no… ."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied again, but in her head she remembered her promise to meet Stitch for dinner. It was late now, later than she expected, too late to offer a believable and painless explanation. "It's nothing. I'll take care of it."

He walked her all the way to the elevators, and when the door dinged open, she threw her arms around him in a surprising hug. "Thank you," she said as they parted.

"You, um, you already thanked me."

"That was for the blanket," she smiled and slid between the closing doors before the blush reached his cheeks.

* * *

She found Ben in the dark. She found him sitting alone on her couch, the jacket of his suit folded across its arm, his tie loosened around his neck, the disappointment on his face illuminated by the one dim lamp in the room. He was no longer waiting to take her to dinner, and the apology she'd prepared on the drive from the hospital seemed suddenly futile.

"I'm sorry," she said anyway from the entryway of her own house. "Ben, I'm really, really sorry. I just—"

"Forgot? Please, Victoria. Don't say you forgot."

He finally turned and looked at her then, a quick glance of anger and wounded pride that tore at her already shredded heart. Though it was her own fault, this was the last thing she needed tonight, and she would have to handle it tonight, no matter how tired or how damaged her emotions already were. She shed her coat, dropped her things, and took a careful seat on the coffee table directly in front of him.

"I wasn't. I mean, I didn't. I didn't forget about dinner. About our plans." Despite their closeness, he still shook his head, denying her explanation and avoiding her determined gaze. She touched his hand to bring his focus back to her, and though it tensed up, he didn't push her away. "I didn't forget about dinner," she repeated, quieter. "Look, Ben, something came up today, something big. Really, really big, in fact. And I-I lost track of time. I just lost track of time, and I'm so sorry about that. But it doesn't mean we can't still go out. I'll run upstairs and change. We'll find some place that' still open. Your burger place maybe? Or a hotdog in the park? Huh? I don't care where we go. Just give me ten minutes. Please? Ten minutes?"

"Is the really bog thing that came up, is it about Billy?" It was more of an accusation than a question, and when he looked directly in her eyes, she saw he was only waiting for confirmation.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Is it about his condition? Has something changed?"

"No," she said quickly, diminishing the possibility before it could take hold in the universe. "His condition is the same. Stable. A little better actually."

"So, what is it, Victoria? What about Billy made you lose all track of time?"

Her face apologized before she even spoke, and Ben pulled his hand away in anticipation of the answer he knew was coming. "I can't tell you."

He stood too fast, almost hitting her as he rose. She thought he was leaving, probably for good this time, but he didn't grab his coat. And that was almost worse, that he didn't just leave without looking back, but stood there, pacing her living room floor, waiting for her to continue, like no matter what she said next, it would be the reason he did leave.

"I wish I could tell you, Ben," she said softly from her perch. "But I can't. It would-it would be bad for a lot of people. People I care very much about. Including you."

He didn't say anything for a while, didn't move either, and when he finally did speak, his voice and his demeanor were both calmer, full of resignation. "This is how it's gonna be, isn't it?"

"Look, it was one time. I lost track of time one time. And I know the last few days have been hard on you. On us. But…" Victoria stopped and sighed. She had run out of air and words. Nothing she said was having an affect, and if she were honest and in his position, her reaction would be similar. "Let me go upstairs. Change," she smiled, trying a different approach, to convince him and herself. "Or we can order in, watch TV. We can do whatever you want. And after tonight, thing's will start getting back to normal, Ben. I promise."

"What about when Billy gets out of the hospital? I know his type of injury. He's gonna need a lot of help. You gonna be there still?"

"I don't…I haven't thought that far ahead," she answered honestly, her smile fading. She hadn't. Her thoughts had so far been on making sure Billy lived and after today, making sure he was around for their children.

"But you didn't say 'no,'" Ben said more to himself than to her. His head was down, his eyes on the floor, his shoulders slumped as though an answer he'd known all along finally made sense, finally was true. "And I guarantee you won't."

"I didn't say 'no' because I haven't thought about it." She stood and marched towards him. Despite her best efforts, she was getting angry, not necessarily at him, but at the situation. She had let Billy go. As much as she could, she had let him go, divorced him months ago, and moved on. She'd chosen Ben, and yet, here Billy was again, his presence as strong as ever in her life, forcing her to choose, to defend her actions, tear her heart into pieces and dole them out to all the people pulling at her. "But now that you've brought it up? Yes. The answer is 'yes.' If he needs a ride to a doctor's appointment or a prescription picked up or his favorite meal from the club, then yes, I'm going to be there. He's Johnny and Katherine's father, Ben, and he almost died. He's always going to be a part of my life. A part, but not all. You knew that going in. Just like Jenna's always going to be a part of yours."

"But we're not standing here arguing about Jenna, or even Reed's dad. They're not why we're not at dinner right now, why we've barely seen each other in days. This is about Billy, Victoria. It's always Billy. Billy, who doesn't even deserve your help after everything he's done to you, everything he's put you through"

"This isn't about what anyone deserves," she pleaded. "Love isn't about what anyone deserves." His hurt was as visible as his argument truthful. A tear fell down her cheek and then another, but she didn't wipe either away. She was tired and knew she should fight, for him, for their relationship. She should at least want to fight. But there was little fight left in her, and the battle in front of her didn't have the same stakes as the one Billy was fighting at the hospital. Or the one surely taking place at the police station. And definitely not the one that had been taking place in her heart for five years now. Ben saw it, too, as much as she didn't want him to, probably knew it the moment he showed up tonight.

"I can't do this anymore," he said and gently touched his hand to her face. The end was here. They both knew it, but the words seemed necessary. "I can't sit around and wait for him to heal just to see if you can let him go."

"That's not what this is, Ben. I told you…"

"I know what you told me, Victoria." He smiled sadly and let his hand slide down her arm until he found her hand. He held it both of his, turned it over and ran his fingers across her palm, as if the words were written there. "But I see things. Things you don't even see. And maybe you and Billy won't end up together. Who knows? But I, I can't, I don't want a front row seat to you playing nurse or chauffer to him. It's petty and it's jealous, but I want to be more to you than second best. And you deserve time to figure things out without me making demands on you."

They stood in the darkened living room looking at each other for a long time, Ben's words slowly sinking into both of their hearts. He was right, not about the Billy part, but he did deserve all of her, and she just couldn't promise it to him. Not now.

"You've been such a good friend to me," she finally said and wrapped her arms around him tight.

"I hope I'll always be your friend," he said and smiled into her shoulder. "But we both know that if I stay and we try to keep doing this, we won't be friends. I'll be angry, and you'll be angry. And I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to be someone you forget to remember and then feel guilty about. I love you too much for that."

"I love you, too, Ben."

He pulled out of the hug and grinned at her, wide and genuine. "And that's why I should go. While we can still say that to each other and mean it."

She nodded her agreement and pulled her arms around herself as Ben walked to the couch and picked up his folded jacket from the arm. He walked back to her and gave another quick hug and a last soft kiss on her lips.

"The kids are really gonna miss you," she breathed as he reached for the doorknob.

"Well, they have a great mom. I know she'll make it okay for them." He smiled, and as if on cue, the sound of Katie crying poured from the baby monitor. It was a sad reminder of what almost was, how much worse this ending could have been if things had turned out different. The sadness was especially evident on Ben's face, and Victoria knew it was harder on him, losing that sense of family she and the kids had given him.

"You should go to her," he said quietly. "That's her hungry cry. I'll call to schedule a time to come get the rest of my things."

Before she could say anything, he was gone, out the door and into the cold darkness. Katie cried out again, and Victoria grabbed the monitor and trudged upstairs. In the course of one day, she'd lost someone she cared about, regained a brother she didn't, and as she glanced as her phone and saw no message yet from Jack, she couldn't help but wonder which category Billy would fall into.

* * *

There were too many people in the squad room, all squawking their demands and complaints at the same time. They were the ones Harding had expected when he first released Lawson hours ago, the high-powered, high-profile ones he had expected even without knowing the full story of Gabriel Bingham and Adam Newman. They started showing up just after Victoria left. The force of her arms and her fears was still imprinted on his chest when Jack Abbott walked in, troubled but regal as he stated he was there to check on an employee who had been taken into custody.

Lawyers were next, two of them. Michael Baldwin buzzed in his ear about due process and rights of the accused, all while eyeing his noticeably upset little brother. But his arguments, while standard and true, were without the passion and tenacity Harding usually witnessed from this particular attorney. Avery Bailey Clark was a different story. Her passion was overwhelming and obviously blind to some additional information Baldwin was privy to. He was glad she was the one who insisted on accompanying Bingham or Newman or whoever he was to booking. There was nothing he could learn from her.

Victor Newman was the last of the expected ones to arrive. He claimed that Lawson, the mother of his grandchild, had informed him of police misconduct, but when Bingham passed through on his way to booking, the look shared between the two men told a different story. Harding calmly witnessed everything, every subtle look, every intangible piece of evidence that couldn't be admitted in court, but that still, in his mind and in his gut, corroborated a growing theory.

"You can't do this," Fisher huffed in Harding's ear, startling the focused detective's attention away from the three suited men huddled together and back to the empty folder he'd been using as a cover. "As soon as they run the prints, everyone will know he's Adam."

"Allegedly Adam. There's no proof. Not yet."

"Yeah, well that proof is gonna send Billy to jail for doing what anyone would have done to the monster who killed his kid. It's what I'd love to do to that bastard right now."

"Careful, Fisher," Harding warned and tossed the folder onto his desk. "That sounds like premeditation. Besides, I know what I'm doing."

"You know what you're doing? Really?" Kevin stared at him, waiting for him to defend himself or argue or something, anything, but when he got no response, not even a glare, he leaned closer to Harding and lowered his voice, mindful of the room full of onlookers. "You charged him with leaving the scene of an accident and destruction of federal property. You've got nothing on him. Any decent lawyer could get those charges dropped. And my brother is better than decent."

"You saw the video, Fish. Hell, you were the one who found the footage of Bingham leaving the penthouse the day Abbott went missing. He clipped a mailbox exiting the parking garage. That's enough proof for now."

"No it's not. It's not enough. It's not enough for Delia, and it's not enough for Billy."

Harding didn't deny it. He couldn't deny it. Fisher was justly angry and emotional, and that's what Harding was counting on if things were going to work out. He couldn't tell Fisher everything, but he needed him. And as Bingham was led back through the squad room fresh from booking, he needed him now.

"Crash the system," he whispered to his tech-savvy friend.

"What?"

"I need you to crash the system. Lose his prints for a few hours. That something you can do?"

"Of course. But—"

"Then just trust me and do it. Fast," Harding demanded. "And shut down the cameras in the interrogation room while you're at it."

Fisher stomped off to his computer. Harding had worked with him long enough to sense that this anger was for show, to avoid suspicion. It also allowed him the opportunity to slip past the group of onlookers and follow the path the cuffed man had just taken. Quick, light footsteps fell behind him and caught up to him as he reached the door of the interrogation room. It was Baldwin, just as he expected, just as he hoped.

"I'm going to request that my client be released now," the lawyer stated mechanically. "Bail is being posted as we speak, and I expect all charges will be dropped by morning."

Harding flashed a wide grin and opened the door. "Well now that all depends on your client's cooperation, doesn't it, counselor?"

There were four chairs at the metal table, and Harding claimed the one across from Bingham immediately while Baldwin sat primly in one adjacent to his "client." Bingham continued to stare blankly at nothing, but his expression had changed. Booking, the taking of his fingerprints had put fear in him. Or maybe, if he were human after all, his sister's visit had affected him. Harding didn't have the proof yet. It was being flung into cyberspace or somewhere as he sat there, but he was more certain than ever that the man in front of him was Adam Newman, the man who hit a little a little girl, left her on the side of the road, and then his hid crime for months, even taking on a new face to save himself. This was the monster he was going to let walk out of the police station.

"Hey, let's play a game." Harding clapped his hands together loudly and leaned back in his chair, the front legs leaving the floor so that he balanced precariously on two. "Who can guess why I decided to be a cop?"

The man across from him sat silent and unmoved, unwilling to participate, so Harding looked to Baldwin, who, though not amused, answered dryly. "A sense of civic duty?"

"Naw," he laughed and tipped farther back in his chair. "I wanted to be a cop to get girls. Girls love the uniform, the sense of excitement, danger. Eh, that's what I thought as a kid anyway. Hey, you ever do anything for a girl, Bingham?"

He was practicing his right to remain silent to the fullest extent, so just as he did last time, Harding looked to the attorney. "How about you?"

"Of course. Isn't that the story of mankind? Though I fail to see how this line of questioning pertains to my client."

"Justice," Harding said and let his chair crash to the floor. "Justice is how it pertains to your client. See, I wanted to be a cop to get girls, but I became a cop because of justice. I like putting the bad guys away, keeping the good people safe. But sometimes, see sometimes the good guys get put away too. I don't want that to happen here. So my question to you, Adam, is how far are you willing to go to save your ass?"

Neither man reacted to the name Harding blew into the small room, but it circled them like a smoke ring, threatening to choke them. He didn't expect them to speak, both probably assuming the conversation was being recorded.

"I have to let you go," Harding said. "See we can't match your prints to any open crimes because well, our system is down. I expect it to be back up in a few hours, maybe sooner, and then everyone will know who you are and what you did. They'll know you ran over a little girl. They'll know that you left your penthouse on the afternoon of February 14, that you drove to your old house, that Billy Abbott showed up, and that you, and only you left. They'll know that you were at the hospital the day after Billy Abbott was admitted. In the ICU, as a matter of fact. Maybe to finish the job, maybe to see how fast you needed to pack. See, I have proof of all this. I have a case against you. But I have to let you go, and I have to warn you that in a few hours, police officers will show up at your door with a warrant for your arrest. A few hours. That's all you have."

Harding stood and walked to the door. Baldwin's eyes followed him out the door, stayed with him even when it closed, heavy and permanent. He understood. He understood everything Harding had just said, and more importantly, the things he didn't say. The attorney would take it from here.

* * *

The doorbell rang long after Ben left, long after she'd gotten Katie back down and just as she'd poured herself the half a glass of red wine she allowed herself three times a week while nursing. It was Jack, she assumed, as she stared again at the four word text she had finally received from him an hour earlier: It's handled. Talk later.

It wasn't Jack, though, and it wasn't Ben with a change of heart. It was Detective Harding who stood between her and the frigid February air, his disheveled appearance that could have easily been mistaken for drunkenness. He seemed smaller, less beastlike, his body framed by the dark night sky and the gentle snow falling behind him. Or it could have been the slump in shoulders or the bags under his eyes, the overgrown stubble that made her feel that way. She was shocked to see him at her door no matter the hour and pulled the tie of her robe tighter around her waist as she let him in.

"Sorry it's so late," he said.

"No, it's fine. Is something…has something…" She didn't know the question to ask. She didn't even know if she wanted the answer. Jack had said it was handled, but that was a while ago. And maybe he wasn't even there about Billy. She had hit Adam. She had hit him in front of a police officer at a police station.

"Billy won't be going to jail," he blurted, ending her speculation. Her whole body exhaled, and relief crept up her spine like a reassuring hand. "Adam won't be either, though. And if I had to guess, he's somewhere over the Atlantic by now."

She was confused, and all she could really focus on was that Billy wasn't going to jail. "I need a drink," she said absently. "You want a drink? You look like you could use a drink."

"How could you tell?" he laughed and then nodded, a soft smile on his face, softer than seemed possible for his roughness. "A beer if you have it."

"I'll be right back."

She floated away, the long skirt of her robe billowing behind her, disappearing behind a swinging door. Harding sighed and took off his jacket, but he didn't put it down. He wasn't staying long in this blue house. He was used to being in strangers' houses, searching them for evidence or motive, analyzing every object, trying to figure out who the occupants were through inanimate objects. This one was easy, this house that was blue, but not sad. It was cheery and homey, full of life and colorful toys sticking out from under nicer furniture than most houses he'd ever been in. He was drawn to the mantle, where every house told its truest story in a row of framed smiling faces. Two boys, two girls. The oldest girl had to be Delia.

"Is this okay? It's all I've got." She was behind him, watching him examine her home, her life, a beer outstretched in her hand.

"It's perfect," he said and drained half of it in one gulp. "Now I owe you a donut and a beer."

"No, I think I'm the one who owes you."

For the next twenty minutes, they sat on her sofa and he told her how, with the help of Kevin and Michael, he freed Adam to free Billy. He told her he had evidence, evidence that would hopefully be corroborated once Billy's memory returned and that would serve as motivation for Adam to keep up his part of the deal. That was the deal. He had to leave the country, and if he ever returned, he would be arrested as soon as his feet hit American soil. And he couldn't be Adam Newman. As long as he was free, he had to live as Gabriel Bingham. It wasn't perfect justice, but sometimes prisons didn't have bars. That's what he told Victoria, hoping it would be enough. It was for her. Adam was gone, and Billy was free.

"You put your job on the line for Billy. For us," she said when he was finished. "Why?"

"Short story," he said, and drained the last drops of his beer before sitting the empty bottle next to her empty wine glass. "Justice. And a girl."

"And the long story?"

"Ah, the long story requires more than one beer, Newman."

"I can get you another beer," she smiled, but before he could answer, little feet on the stairs interrupted, and Johnny's face appeared, grinning and smushed against the spindles.

"What are you doing up?" she admonished softly and playfully. It was all the little boy needed to slide down the stairs and run to her, shy and embarrassed in front of the stranger. "Johnny, this is Detective Harding. He…stopped by to make sure we were okay."

"Hey, man," Harding said and held his hand up for a high-five. "Good to meet ya, but I should be going."

They all three walked to the door, Johnny cuddled in his mother's arms. "Hey," she said, "maybe one day you'll tell me the long version?"

"One day," he promised as he opened the door. The cold air greeted them once again, and Harding watched the woman he called Newman pull her little boy closer to her. "It was worth it," he said, "knowing he'll have his dad around."

"Yeah," she sighed against the closed door. Her kids were worth it. She had lost a relationship today, regained a brother she didn't want, relived some of the most painful days of her life, and yet the feel of the little boy made it bearable. She could take the pain and the heartache, the long days, the sleepless nights. She could accept Adam having his freedom if it meant their father did, too. She could do that for them, but could Billy?

"C'mon," she breathed against her son. "How about we get a snack, and you can sleep in my bed tonight?"


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for the delay. I hope some of you are still interested and still love Villy as much as I do. If only Y&amp;R could get writers who feel the same. :(

I do love Villy. I will always love them, especially Billy and Amelia's part of the love story. My story is a Villy story. I make no apologies for that. I feel there is a goldmine of material and and story with these two, for an indeterminate amount of time. So please, if you are looking for Villy love, know that you will find it here. It may come slow, but it will happen.

Thanks for all the support. Happy Reading

Rhonda

* * *

Balm

Chapter 10

Billy couldn't have known that the third morning in a row he woke to a bright hospital room and not some cold, dismal hole in the world would mark the day he remembered everything. All of it. How he came to be in both the dismal hole and the hospital room that smelled unexpectedly of coconut. And every miserable and beautiful part in between.

He wasn't even trying to remember the gaps in his circumstance when his eyes first squinted against the light, having reconciled the amnesiac part of his monitored condition, satisfied with not knowing what caused the deep, rumbling fear that was greater than his pain. It was the last two days instead that he forced himself to recall, and what he recalled was Victoria, her eyes like twin mirrors of hope, the soft touch of her fingertips against his wounds, the scent of coconut her touch left behind. She had been there both days. And she'd brought Katherine Rose yesterday, and he'd talked to Johnny for nearly an hour.

And Delia was gone.

Victoria was gone, too, no longer beside him like last night or like that first morning, her hand warm inside his. It wasn't his mother either, draped across the couch on the other side of the room. It was Jack acting as babysitter this morning, his body an almost perfect forty-five degree angle against the chair at his bedside, head thrown back, mouth open, his suited legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his hands folded at his belt. He was sleeping, but his eyes were scrunched in anguish, and Billy silently added his brother to the growing list of those who suffered because of him, those who always seemed to suffer because of him.

The hospital room wasn't quite as bright as the past two mornings, and between the blinds Billy saw the reason why, gray clouds spread across the sky like a woolly blanket. It would snow today, or maybe it was snowing now, tiny flakes too small to see from where he lay. It had been cold lately. His mother had told him that yesterday before launching into a tirade about a groundhog seeing its shadow and the ridiculous practice of using a rodent to predict weather. It had been an excruciating exchange, he remembered clearly, partly because she was trying so hard to act like things were normal, partly because his pain meds were wearing off, but mostly because the conversation had conjured a memory of Johnny holding up a picture of a brightly colored groundhog. He'd made it in preschool, and he was so proud, his little face one big smile that crumbled into laughter when Billy reenacted the ridiculously formal Groundhogs Day ceremony using Katie as the groundhog. That was February 2, during one if his scheduled visits, twelve days before he forgot everything. That he could remember plain as day, but not how he'd ended up in the hospital.

He felt suddenly trapped. In this bed, this hospital, in his own foggy brain. He needed to get up. He needed to get out of there. Six more weeks of winter, that's what the groundhog had predicted. The snow that fell today could be one of the last of the winter, and he'd yet to take his son sledding or build a snowman, teach him how to make snow cream. He had screwed up so many times, let down the people he loved over and over again, and now, when all he wanted to do was make things right, he couldn't even kick himself free of the blankets that covered his useless body. The more he tried, the more frustrated he became. He grunted loud and kicked hard, but his struggle only sent Johnny's green dinosaur tumbling to the floor.

"Hey, hey, hey." Jack's voice saved him from following the stuffed toy over the edge. One strong hand pushed him gently back against the raised bed while another rescued the prehistoric creature and returned it to its borrowed owner. "What's going on? You okay?"

"I'm fine," Billy dismissed and turned the dinosaur over and over in his hands, unwilling to face his brother until the embarrassment had subsided. "Guess it was your turn to baby-sit, huh?" he said after a few minutes, determined to change the subject

"I'm not baby-sitting, little brother. And you're not fine."

"I will be. It's just a few cuts and bruises." Billy's lie hung between them for several seconds, long enough for Jack to reexamine him, to once more take in the full scope of what his brother had endured.

"I haven't done a very good job protecting you, have I?" It was a statement, a confession, though Jack posed it as a question, with a soft voice and the weight of those watery, sincere eyes inherited from their father squarely on Billy.

"It was never your job, big brother." Billy cleared his scratchy, emotion-filled throat with a forced laugh that ended as a sad smile. "Besides, I think we all know I have you beat when it comes to not protecting the people you love."

Neither had said her name, but Delia was the sad undertone. She would always be the sad undertone of every conversation, the measure of regret in every situation. Billy saw her now, in his mind, in his memory, a flash of a moment that stirred others inside him. He had seen her. On her birthday. Twelve days after the groundhog saw its shadow. He'd visited Victoria and the kids and left with a smile on his face and the first real hint of hope in his heart. He'd gone to see Delia then, gone to her roadside memorial, to tell her something. He remembered seeing her there, talking to her, her smiling face so real, so happy.

"Look, Billy," Jack started, and just like that the memory was gone again. "There's something we need to talk about."

"I need to talk to you about something, too. About Victoria. See, I'm…I'm not sure if she's coming today, and I don't… I know things are complicated and…everything…but…"

Jack watched him struggle for words that didn't exist, a way to explain what was between his brother and the woman he'd helped raise. The truth was he needed to talk to Victoria, too. He'd called last night after leaving the airport, but Johnny had her preoccupied and she sounded exhausted. He'd come here instead. It was his turn, and he needed to see his brother, his brother who was already sleeping and smelled like a tropical island.

"Please, Jack?" Billy asked again. "Can you call her? Just see if she's coming? Don't beg her or anything, but…"

"I'll call her," he promised, and Billy nodded his gratitude just as a nurse walked through the door, a chart and IV bag in her hands. "I need to take care of some things at Jabot," Jack added, taking his cue to leave, "but I'll be back later. To talk."

"Go home," Billy called after him, a smile on his face for the first time this morning as he ignored the seriousness in his brother's promise. "Take a shower."

"Well, you seem to be feeling better today," the nurse observed when they were alone. It wasn't the usually nurse, the pretty brunette who'd helped him call Johnny.

"I'll be feeling even better if you let me get out of here."

She smiled at his attempted charm, but didn't look at him or cave to the infamous smile she'd been warned about. "You know what the doctor said. We have to get you out of the ICU first. But…," she added when his face fell in the corner of her eye, "Dr. Walker did say he wanted to get you out of bed today. Start moving. Baby steps and all."

"Baby steps," he muttered and defeated, settled back into his prison. He let his eyes close against the grey light and repeated the last two days in his head once more as the nurse went about her duties, as he waited to see if Jack would come through for him.

* * *

"If you're wondering if I plan on making an appearance at the office today, the answer is yes." Victoria held her front door open and matched her father's stern expression until his face spread into a wide grin that made his eyes disappear.

"Hello, my sweetheart," he said and placed a kiss on her forehead before entering her home.

"Hi, Daddy."

"I'll have you know I am not here to drag you into the office."

"Oh?" She let the door close softly behind her and folded her arms across her chest, as much in defiance as the foolish notion it would help hide the fact that she was still in her robe at nearly 10 o'clock in the morning.

"On the contrary. I came to see you. To see how you're doing. And to maybe spend some time with my grandchildren."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, "and well Johnny, he's at preschool and I just put Katherine down for her morning nap, so you sort of came all the way out here for…" Her voice trailed off along with her train of thought, well before she accidentally mentioned that Johnny had been late to preschool, partly because of his late night last night and partly because of the reason her father had already stopped listening to her. He was staring intently at the gift bag on the coffee table, and she watched him pick it up and study the chimpanzee with a bandaged head and a thermometer in its mouth, the words "Get Well Soon" printed in big bubble letters just below the blue tissue paper that bloomed from the opening.

"It's for Billy," she explained softly and braced herself for some new version of the "Billy is useless" speech. "It's from the kids. They wanted to get him a get-well present."

The great Victor Newman smiled again, even chuckled as he gently returned the bag to the exact spot where he'd found it. "That's very kind of them. Sweet children. I'm sure he will be very appreciative."

"Look, Dad," she started out of habit and then stopped. He hadn't insulted Billy, or her for supporting him. He wasn't even paying attention to her anymore. Hands in his pockets, he wandered over to the basinette where her daughter lay sleeping and smiled a softer, proud smile as he stared at the infant. Few people ever saw him this way, but moments like this one, moments when his true heart was on display, they were the reason she was always able to put the ugliness behind them, the reason why she loved him despite everything. In his way, with his desperate, abandoned heart she knew he loved her, too. He loved all of his children, loved them the only way he knew how. Even the ones, the one, who didn't deserve it.

Guilt, undeserved guilt, mingled with the dull ache of the emotional hangover from yesterday, intensifying the pain like gasoline on a flame. Adam was alive. The man who had torn her family apart and nearly put Billy in a grave alongside his daughter was alive. Only a handful of people had grieved him a year ago, but her father, his father, had been one of the few. Did he know his son was alive? The son he'd stared at as a baby just as lovingly as he stared at her daughter now? How could he know? Should he know? Didn't he deserve to know? But would his knowing ruin the whole plan and put Billy's life in limbo again? And by association her children's lives? And hers?

The shrill ring of her phone pierced her core and stopped her train of thought before it derailed into chaos. It was Jack, and she suddenly felt she was holding a live grenade in her hand, as if her father would know her newly-acquired secret or could read her every thought. He didn't turn around, though, his focus still on the sleeping baby. "It's Jack," she confessed. "It's probably about Billy."

He looked at her then, sweetly, but kept a hand on the side of the basinette. "Take it, my sweetheart. I will stay here and keep an eye on my beautiful granddaughter."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Take your time. You can even finish getting dressed if you want," he added with a teasing raise of his eyebrows. "So you can come into the office."

She laughed in spite of herself and the guilt. "There's a bottle if she…"

"I've done this before, you know?"

She nodded and headed upstairs, swiping her thumb across her phone's screen as she gave one last glance to the duo downstairs. "Hi, Jack. How is he?"

She was behind the privacy of her bedroom door when Jack finished the rundown of Billy's condition. No change. That was a good thing. The conversation reached a mutual dead end afterward, a pit of silence as the other waited to see who would broach the subject of last night first. She imagined he felt as she did, that talking about it, saying the unimaginable words out loud, somehow how made the reality all the more real.

"Sorry I couldn't talk last night," she finally said when she could take the silence no longer.

"It was probably for the best. How is my nephew by the way?"

She heard the amusement and love in his voice, and she smiled. Her children had that effect on everyone, Newman and Abbott alike. "He's good. I think he's just having a hard time not seeing his dad. But, um, thanks to you and whatever magic you performed last night, it seems he won't have to for much longer."

"About that," Jack said, and she heard him exhale the amusement from his voice. "I need to explain—"

"No," she interrupted. "You don't have to explain anything. Detective Harding filled me in last night."

"He did?"

"Well, the gist of it anyway. And honestly, Jack, I don't think I need to know the rest. My children are going to have their father. That's all that really matters right now."

"You might change your mind." His cryptic words were followed by a pounding, a knocking at his door and an eerie nothingness. "There's someone at the door," he said. "Can we finish this another time?"

"Sure, I'll see you at the hospital later?"

"You're coming to the hospital today?" he asked, remembering Billy's plea.

"Yeah. I mean…if you think it's okay. If he's up to it."

"Victoria, I think that's exactly what he needs today," Jack responded with a smile on his face, though a different emotion shadowed his eyes. He was face to face with the woman on the other side of his door, the frazzled, sleepless woman he had avoided for hours. He couldn't avoid her now, and he knew despite what Victoria had said, the full truth couldn't be avoided for much longer.

* * *

The pink, swaddled creature squirmed in her sleep, stretched her arms until they nearly encircled her downy head. She was a ballerina, in fifth position. Victor watched her little chest rise up and down and placed his aged, weathered hand on her stomach to feel the easy, gentle breathing that knew no danger or fear.

"You remind me so much of your mother. You know that?"

The baby continued to sleep, and Victor closed his eyes until all he saw was Victoria as a tiny, squirming pink baby so many years ago that it felt like yesterday. He used to do the same thing with her, place his hand on her as she slept, to feel her breathing, amazed that such beauty and perfection could come from abandoned nothingness. He hadn't deserved her then. He hadn't deserved any of his children or grandchildren, but God how he wanted them and loved them, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly.

He opened his eyes before emotion consumed him, and to his surprise, little Katherine was looking up at him, big blue eyes like her mother's. She kicked her legs excitedly and waved her arms at him, no longer a ballerina, but a grandchild begging to be picked up. He obliged happily and nestled her in the crook of his arm.

"Hello, my sweet girl. You didn't expect to see your old grandpa, did you? No. No, you didn't." The baby cooed at his every sugary, exaggerated word, and Victor laughed, engulfed in joy. "I came to see your mommy. Yes, I did. I did. See, she's my little girl. Oh, I know she's a grown woman, but she will always be my little girl. Even when we disagree. And the two of us, we disagree a lot."

Victor laughed at his own musings, but then grew sincere, quiet and spoke directly to his granddaughter who had grown drowsy once again. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Even when we disagree. I can't stand to see her heart broken. No. That's why I helped your father. Even though he doesn't deserve her. Or you. Or your brother."

The tear he had been holding back pooled hot, blurring his vision so that if he wanted, he could convince himself it was Victoria in his arms, and he was a younger man with a chance to do it all over again, do it right this time. But he wasn't a young man, hadn't been a young man in a long time, but as he had learned in recent days, there was always another chance to do better than before.

"You'll keep my secret, won't you now?" he asked the sleeping baby. The regret passed as it always did, the joy returned, and Victor sat with his granddaughter, placing his hand on her little chest once more as he waited for her mother to return.

* * *

Her appearance at the office lasted longer than she intended. She'd missed a lot, been absent too long, and stepping off the elevator felt like stepping into quicksand. But it also felt great being back. It felt incredible, in fact, to be needed, to be in charge, to lose herself in meetings and numbers and crises that she knew how to fix, instead of being at the mercy of jargon-filled strangers in white coats. And her new project, the re-launch of Beauty of Nature driven by the development of the healing balm, had her adrenaline pumping like it hadn't in a long time. Of course, every mention of the balm, and any number of other arbitrary words and phrases, reminded her of Billy and turned the day into an one long question of when was too soon or too late to sneak out to see him, an internal struggle of whether she needed to see him desperately or feared having to see him.

It was late afternoon when she did pull herself away from the office, only to stand outside his door and practice turning the handle for ten minutes. He was alone. The first nurse she passed inside the ICU doors told her that. The nurses always told her if he was alone or if someone was with him, and though she often wondered if they did that for everyone or just her, she was always grateful for the information they passed along.

Over the last few days, she'd gotten used to going straight in, used to seeing him in the bed, used to the machines and the injuries, used to the unspoken, intimate truce between them. But today her heart was in a knot, twisted and beating erratically deep inside her chest. She knew more than he did about how he'd ended up here, and she also knew the resolution. She knew about Adam when he couldn't remember, and she knew the measures taken to protect Billy. She worried that he would suspect something just by looking at her, and more than that, she worried about his reaction when his memories did return and the truth did come out. But when she pushed the worry aside and finally leaned her weight against the heavy door, it wasn't his condition or his memory that alarmed her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she scolded. He was sitting up in bed, all the covers thrown from his body and his bare legs swinging over the side of the bed.

"I have to get out of this bed, Vick. I have to. The nurse said she'd come back, but that was an hour ago. I have to get up now before I lose it." He was talking fast and pulling at the tangle of wires like a drug addict needing a fix.

"I know, okay," she said softly and pulled his hands from the wires. "It's tough. Believe me, I know. But the last thing I need is for you to get hurt. Again. Think about the kids, Billy. Think about how much they want to see you. In one piece."

He conceded with a sigh and didn't protest when she eased him back against his pillow and helped swing his legs back onto the mattress. His hospital gown inched up as she did, revealing a large cut on his upper left thigh. There were two smaller ones and a few bruises on his shin, too, but it was the four inch gash on his thigh that caught both of their eyes.

"I…didn't know about that one," she said when he caught her staring. She covered it up quickly with the hospital-issued blanket first and then the pink one from home. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes staring directly into her. "It hurts a lot." She knew he wasn't talking about the cut on his leg or any of his wounds, but something deeper, something they both felt. Loss. Regret. Indeterminate heartache. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. She never could with him. He showed her mercy, though, and grinned slyly, his tongue firm in his cheek. "Guess you'll have to add it to the routine?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes as she took a seat, but in her head she did add it the list of wounds to apply balm to. One more wound, one more potential scar. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten that one, if she'd ever know, if Billy would ever know. She assumed Adam knew, and for the first time since last night, she regretted letting him escape without the full story.

"You okay?"

"Me?" Victoria asked, jerking her head up to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I'm…I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Something's wrong."

"I'm…just tired," she half-lied and flashed a wide grin to convince him. "I didn't get much sleep last night. That's all. You know how it is."

"Oh" was all he said as his face fell and he looked away from her, his good hand pulling furiously at the loose plaster on his cast. Victoria furrowed her brow and replayed her words in her head, trying to figure out what she'd said wrong. She had smiled, too much perhaps, and mentioned not sleeping. In Billy's mind that meant only one thing, one thing that in her case couldn't have been farther from the truth. He didn't need to know about Stitch, though, that her relationship was over, and that she definitely hadn't been up all night making wild, passionate love. He didn't need to know that, but at the same time and for some reason she wouldn't admit to, she didn't want him thinking that either.

"Johnny," she said pointedly and Billy looked up. "Johnny was up. He kept me up. He, um, he's sort of making a habit of it lately."

Her explanation did the trick, and he sighed an apology and reached his good hand behind him, pulling out a familiar furry green dinosaur. "I think he needs this back. Will you, uh, will you take it to him?"

"Yeah. If you're sure?"

"I'm sure. Tell him it helped me a lot, but I want him to have it back. And tell him to let his Mama get some rest."

Victoria smiled and accepted the offering, their fingers brushing as their son's favorite comfort toy exchanged hands. She surprised him by trading it for the blooming tissue paper at her feet. "He, um, he and Katherine have something for you, too."

"Oh yeah?" He grinned when she sat the bag on his stomach and went to work pulling out the tissue paper and throwing it at her. It was just like every Christmas morning they'd spent together, until that last one, and just like on every one of those mornings, she folded each wrinkled piece into a neat square as she waited to see his reaction to the gift.

"It's a phone?" His forehead wrinkled, and he held the object like it was his first time seeing one.

"I made sure it was okay with the nurses," she assured him, though he wasn't really listening. "And it's fine as long as you still get plenty of rest. None of your contacts were transferred, so no work, no distractions. I mean it. I just thought it would help. Talking to Johnny and all, especially since your old one is gone."

He saw a flash of a phone, not the one in his hand, but the one he used to hold in his hand. His phone. He saw it lit up, barely illuminating a suffocating darkness. He saw names scrolling past, alphabetically, stopping when he saw a "v." "V" for Victoria. He had tried to call her, somewhere, some time he couldn't remember. And then the phone was gone, the memory vanished like the groundhog burrowing back into its hole and he was in the hospital and Victoria was there, talking to him about their son and a new phone.

"Johnny showed me the games you two were playing before the accident, and we downloaded those onto it. There's also some new pictures of the kids, and I can send you more everyday. Johnny insisted on taking some of his own," she laughed and nervously ran her fingers through her hair. "I didn't look through them, though, so I can't promise they're not all of his toys."

He found the pictures, and the first one was enough. It was his kids, their little faces smushed together. Johnny was grinning so big, and Katie, serious little Katie, was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out. He could tell they were on the sofa at home and that Katie was in her mother's arms, her head against Victoria's nearly bare shoulder, bare except for the strap of her nightgown and a sliver of the robe that had slipped down her arm as she took the picture. He could see her delicate jaw in the top corner of the frame as well, the curve of a smile on her face. He didn't need to see the rest of the pictures now. He had his family. Minus Reed and of course Delia, he had his family, for just a minute, frozen in time.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," she whispered back. "And I was thinking that as soon as you get out of the ICU and into a regular room, you know without all the machines and the rules, I can maybe bring them to see you. Both of them."

"You don't…you don't have to do all this, Vick. You don't owe me anything."

"I don't want to have anymore regrets, Billy. Not when it comes to the kids at least." She touched his hand, and he grabbed on for dear life. The spark scared her and inspired him. He remembered a letter, a letter full of regrets and apologies, things he'd begged God to let him say to her face. Those words, they were all on the tip of his tongue now, ready to leap from the page, forgetting the past, forgetting all the forgotten pieces, seizing this moment as his second chance, his destiny, their destiny. But it wasn't meant to be. She jumped back as if stung, and he felt the sting stronger than she had until he realized they weren't alone.

"You ready to get out of that bed, Mr. Abbott?" The young nurse he was accustomed to seeing didn't realize she had interrupted anything until she was fully inside his room, fully immersed in their broken moment. She was young, but not too young to recognize immediately that something had happened between patient and visitor, something intense. She blushed a deep crimson when she realized her presence was what had ended it.

"I need to make a phone call," Victoria announced loudly.

She stood even quicker and was already at the door by the time the words were fully spoken. Billy didn't protest her leaving, didn't try to stop her, but she did pause for a moment when the nurse called out to her. "There's a lady looking for you in the waiting room," she said sheepishly. "She tried to come back, but she's not family. I told her I'd let you know."

Victoria thanked her and smiled, softly to reassure her she'd done nothing wrong. But when they were alone, Billy saw the nurse still felt uncomfortable.

"You're late," he teased. "I was this close to going for a walk by myself. And now I don't even think I want to go."

It worked. The nurse grinned and reclaimed her authority in the room. "Doctor's orders, Mr. Abbott. You're getting out of this bed, whether you like it or not. Up and at'em."

"At'em?" Billy repeated.

"That's what my mom always used to say," she said as she helped him into a robe, taking extra care to get the sleeve over his cast. "I am not a morning person, which is why I usually work the night shift. I switched today, though."

As she talked, the two syllables beat like a drum in his subconscious. They didn't mean what they were supposed to mean, didn't seem to even sound like they were supposed to. When Diana pulled him onto his feet, though, the drumbeats recessed, and the pain came forward like a charging bull. His legs felt like Jello and he almost wimped out and fell back onto the bed. The tiny nurse was his crutch, and he knew this wasn't going to work if she was the only thing supporting him.

Then he saw the walker, the shiny metal, the tennis balls on the feet, and he started to object, quit again. She anticipated it and warned him with a glare and then a conspiratorial smile. She had learned his buttons and knew how to push them. "What do you say we surprise her? Meet her in the hallway?"

It was like riding a bicycle, he told himself. One foot in front of the other. Baby steps. He could do this. He had to do this. To get out of the ICU. To get to leave the hospital. To get his life back. With each step, his confidence grew. Diana kept asking him how he felt, if he was tired, and he kept saying no without thinking about the question. Victoria was somewhere in this hallway, and that was his motivation. Every time she said they'd gone far enough for today, he ignored her and shuffled on, the metal walker measuring the next step he needed to take. When they reached the set of double doors that marked his escape, though, the fatigue set in. He couldn't make it back, and that embarrassed him more than the walker. But neither Diana nor the nurse she asked to grab a wheelchair let him feel that way. They told him over and over how great he'd done, how he'd gone farther than any other patient with his injuries.

Their words meant little to him, and he stared straight ahead at the double door while the wheelchair was fetched. They swung opened in front of him, suddenly, violently it seemed, and a couple, a man and a woman walked through. Billy didn't see them, though. He saw Victoria instead, on the other side. She was talking to someone, talking intensely to someone, arguing. She shifted, and he caught a glimpse of the other woman. The other woman. The woman he had lived with, one half of a nightmare he had managed to forget for days.

The drumbeat started in his head again. At'em. At'em. At'em. Only it was At'em. It hadn't been at'em all along. A flood of memories came at him, pushed him into the waiting wheelchair like a tidal wave. A doorway. A secret. A car ride. A mausoleum masquerading as a house. The dark. A cell phone. A man. A man masquerading as another. A man who was dead.

"Adam," he breathed to no one. "It was Adam."


	11. Chapter 11

Balm

Chapter 11

"It was Adam."

Victoria's heart pounded in her ears. From the half-sprint back to his room. From anticipating those three words before they left his lips. From fear of what would follow.

The last few minutes were only accessible to her as slow, measured flashes. They echoed like footsteps down an empty hallway. She'd been with Billy. They'd teetered on a familiar, longing ledge, poised to fall again if she didn't jump first. She'd escaped to the hallway, where her tazed heart fought her forward progress until Chelsea physically did. That same flinty, aggravated voice from yesterday had levied more blame at Victoria's feet, demanded again that Billy fix it all. The realization that Adam had left Genoa City without a word to her had come as a flash too, just as Chelsea's expression froze in stoic surprise. Billy was there, disappearing behind the slow close of mechanical doors, his bruised face looking straight ahead, but not seeing them. He knew. She had seen in his eyes that he remembered.

She'd thrown her body in front of Chelsea's attempt at the closing ICU doors. Then Jack was there, out of nowhere to save them all. "Go," he had told her. "Go to Billy." He would take care of Chelsea. He said it over and over again as Chelsea squirmed like a bug pinned to a wall. His words finally registered, and she took off. Through the doors. Down the hall. To his room, where he was already back in bed, Johnny's dinosaur retrieved from the floor and stationed in his lap. She stood just over the threshold, her hand on the open door, still undecided if she would stay or flee. But Billy was calm, his eyes focused clearly on her, void of any of the anger she had expected.

"It was Adam," he repeated, and this time she heard him above the pounding of her heart. "Adam's alive."

She let go of the door. It sighed and clicked closed, her decision made, though she moved no farther into the room. "You remember."

"Yeah, I remember," he answered, though it hadn't been a question. "I remember."

His confirmation made her head swim. The days of wondering about what had happened to him, the desperation to know every detail, they were over with a handful of words, and yet somehow she was more terrified now than when she first saw him in that bed, fighting for his life. She was terrified of the truth, terrified of the aftermath, terrified that he had come back to them physically, just to lose him to something greater and more agonizing than death. But the fear didn't stop her from needing to know.

"Wh-what do you remember?"

"You," he said, surprising her with a tender smile. "I remember you. And the kids. Valentine's Day. I remember Delia. And I remember how far, how goddamn far off course I let myself get." They weren't the cold, violent facts she expected to hear. He could tell by the way she stopped breathing with a quiet gasp and how she wrapped her arms around herself as she steadied her body against the closed door. He could also tell she wasn't interested in hearing apologies or regrets right now, no self-deprecating monologues. She needed to know he remembered what happened to him. So, he cleared his throat and started over, gripping Johnny's dinosaur in both hands for strength.

"I remember going to the penthouse," he said. "To get my stuff. I was going to leave, go back to Jack's. That place, it wasn't where I belonged. !, uh, I realized that that day. Anyway, the door was open when I got there. He was in there. Adam. Gabe. Whoever. He was talking to Chelsea. She was crying, and she said his name. She said "I can't believe it's you, Adam. I can't believe it's you." And as crazy as it sounded, it …it made sense, you know. I couldn't move, so I ust stood there and listen—"

"Stop," Victoria said suddenly. "Just stop." She wiped at her cheek and catapulted from the door. He watched with confusion as she dug in her purse and pulled her cell phone free.

"What are you doing?" She was just close enough that he could grab her shaky hands with his good one.

"I'm calling the police. We have to do this right."

"Hold on. No. Stop. I don't –I don't want to do that." He tried to pull the phone from her hands, but she was stronger right now, stronger and upright.

"You don't have a choice, Billy. You have to give a statement."

"Why? He's been caught, hasn't he? That's why Chelsea was here. That's why she was so upset. That's what you been keeping from me, isn't it?"

"Adam's gone, Billy," she yelled. Anger burned inside her and flared in her eyes, fanned by his callous, flippant attitude. "He got away. Yeah. He got away again. And now you have to tell the police what he did to you. You have to because of something you kept from me, Billy. Another thing you kept from me. You shot him. Do you remember that? Last year, when you came crawling back to our house, to me and Johnny. You shot him. But don't worry. I've already added it to the list of things you kept from me."

"It wasn't like that, Vick. It…." His voice was soft and apologetic, but stopped altogether with the look she shot him, a bullet of hate and betrayal. This wasn't what he wanted, not now, not with her. "It was an accident. We fought over the gun….the car swerved…it just went off…I didn't know…"

"I don't want to hear it. I really don't. We're over. We're done. And this isn't about me. It's about our children, and they deserve to have their father in their lives."

"That's all I want." It was mostly the truth.

"Then give the statement. For them."

"Look, I just –I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to keep rehashing it over and over again. And not because I'm angry or holding grudges or, or plotting revenge. I'm not, Victoria. It's over. It was over in that basement. I promise…" He realized as he said them how little those words would mean to her, how they would only dig deeper at an unhealed or reopened wound. His chest was tight, in need of air. He took a few steady breaths and leveled his eyes with hers, making himself as open and vulnerable as he was capable of. "I just want to move on, okay, Vick? Adam's gone? Fine. He won't come back. He's too much of a coward."

"You really do think it's that easy, don't you?" She was quiet too, scary quiet. Her anger rested deep inside her now, where she buried every strong, unmanageable emotion. A sad, unloving smile took its place. "A lot of people put their reputations and their careers on the line for you. Jack. And Kevin. And Michael. Detective Harding. Me."

That last trembling syllable hurt the most, and he didn't try to hide it, not that he could. He reached for her, tried to recapture that last intimate moment they had shared. She pulled away, out of reach, a dance they were used to, experts at. "No," she said and shook her head. "I'm done. I'm done with all of it."

"Vick," he warned desperately as she cleared all evidence of her visit from the floor, her purse, a gift bag full of carefully folded tissue paper. "Victoria!"

She ignored him and made a beeline for the door. She would have been gone, free, if not for Dr. Walker. She tornadoed right into him, her force no match for his strong white-coated torso or the arms that awkwardly circled around her to keep her from falling as she stumbled backwards.

"Victoria," Billy called out again when he saw he had one last chance. Out of the corner of her eyes, the ones avoiding the doctor's concerned gaze, she saw a green dinosaur extended in her direction. Johnny. Johnny would force her to go back. She placed an empty palm against Dr. Walker, against his name tag, a pocket that held a shiny silver pen, and pushed herself away. She grabbed the dinosaur by its head without looking at Billy, without looking at anyone and marched through the open door, her back straight as a soldier's.

Both men watched her leave, but it was Billy who looked away first. Dr. Walker had seen the upset in both patient and visitor when he happened through the door. But it was the woman on two feet, no visible wounds, that his eyes stayed on and not the man in the hospital bed. He followed her angry exit down the hall, stayed where she had been long after she was gone. His patient finally coughed, once and then a string of unrelenting ones, reminding him he was a physician first. The doctor moved quickly, placing an oxygen mask over his patient's mouth and nose and, when the coughing subsided, the cold end of a stethoscope inside the hospital gown. Billy knew the drill. Deep breath. Hold it. Wince. Let it go. He did this three times, once with every move of the stethoscope.

"Lungs sound good," the doctor said. "Coughing is good, too. Helps prevent pneumonia. But try not to overdo it."

"Sorry about…all that," Billy said as he pulled the plastic mask from his face and gestured towards the door. His ribs ached, and the dust of their argument was still heavy in the air. A cough wouldn't clear it. "She just…she hates me."

The doctor made eye contact with him, brief, but pointed, and Billy couldn't tell if he was searching for the truth or deciding what to say next. It was uncomfortable, the way he looked at him, as if he knew more than the injuries to his body. In the end, Dr. Walker simply looked away as if nothing had been said and buried his gaze in the scribbled notes of Billy's medical chart.

"Looks like you've had an eventful day. You, um, you walked down the hall?"

"Yeah," Billy grimaced and rubbed at his sore ribs. "Til I had to be wheeled back."

"Pain sneaks up on us sometimes. Reminds us we're not healed yet. But, it's still a victory. More than most can do. You're making the right improvements, Billy, miraculous considering where you were a few days ago. Now it's time to start the next phase."

"No offense, Doc, but that mean I get to leave?"

"No, but it does mean getting out of the ICU. Based on today and your steady progress, I'd say that could be as early as Friday."

"I guess that's good," Billy shrugged. His heart and thoughts were still chasing a woman down a hallway he couldn't even walk down. Hearing anything other than her voice was not a victory in his mind.

"I'd also like to start you on physical therapy then, too. Get your muscles re-trained, build your strength."

"Bring it on," he said absently. His eyes still clung hopefully to the door, so he didn't see Dr. Walker roll the stool next to his bed, or sit, or fold his hands over the medical chart in his lap, or hesitate ever so slightly.

"I've also set you up with therapy sessions."

Billy's head snapped to attention. "You mean a shrink? Nah, I don't-"

"It's standard for head injuries," Dr. Walker continued, unfazed. "And you've had a couple. Not to mention…everything else."

The two men sized each other up. It was the longest conversation they had ever had, certainly the longest one alone. And Billy could see then that he did know more than his physical injuries and that maybe the jealous sting from seeing Victoria against him earlier was justified. It had only been an awkward collision on the surface, but each second she lingered, each moment the good doctor watched her leave, was a second more for suspicion to grow.

"Nah," Billy said coldly. "I tried that already. After my daughter died. Didn't work for me."

Dr. Walker almost laughed. They were nearly the exact words Victoria had used last night. But in the space between thinking about laughing and actually doing it, he saw Billy's left thumb involuntarily, and subtly slip between his third and forth fingers, twisting an imaginary wedding band. It was reflex or the power of suggestion that made Dr. Walker do the same thing to the pale ring of skin that circled his own finger.

"Has anything worked for you, Billy?"

The question was biting, sarcastic. For the first time Billy noticed the tanless reminder on his doctor's left hand, a more prominent twin to his own scar. They were patrons of a similar tragedy, members of the same sad club. He wasn't a doctor anymore, and as if reading Billy's mind, he deposited the forgotten chart on the hospital bed and took off the white cloak of his profession.

"I'm not suggesting therapy just as your doctor. I've been there. Tried to forget. Tried to drown myself in work, drinking. But there is no kind nepenthe, Billy. Not that lasts."

"No what?"

The doctor chuckled and rubbed his tired face. "You read any Poe?"

_You look like something out of a Dickens novel- make that Edgar Allan Poe._

He nodded to shake the memory form his skull. "Yeah, probably in high school. College maybe."

"'Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore! Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore,'" he recited. "It's a drug, a potion. Makes you forget grief. IT was first used in the _Odyssey_. Given to Helen of Troy to make her forget her home."

"It isn't real," Billy murmured and once again, spun his scar of a ring.

"Look, the sessions aren't up for debate. Not as long as you're in here. After that, it's up to you. But I speak from experience. It helps. Helps you cope, not forget." He was a doctor again, and he gathered the chart and his white coat, folded them both across his arm as he rose and staggered like a memory across the tile floor.

"Hey," Billy called, and Dr. Walker stopped where Victoria had flown into him earlier. "What's your story? Your wife?"

That simple question made him a man again and not a doctor. He sighed and looked to the ceiling. Billy watched a lifetime pass across his eyes, birthdays and anniversaries spent together, good days and sad ones, fights and making love, vacations on the beach, nights at home on the couch. "Does it matter?" he finally shrugged. "They all end the same. I lost her."

Billy accepted it. It was true, the simplest truth there was. But the doctor surprised, hand on door handle, his voice echoing off the solid wooden surface. "She died of Uteran Cancer five years ago. Three months after she was diagnosed. Two weeks before our divorce would have been final. I took my ring off the night you came in."

He tried to control it, but Billy heard the drowning emotion fight to the death in his throat and saw the quivering of his jaw in profile. And then he stilled and turned before Billy could utter a useless "I'm sorry."

"She doesn't hate you," he said. "No one spends night after terrible night in a hospital chair for someone they don't love. Someone they don't want another chance with. If I had..if…if my wife walked through that door, there isn't one thing I wouldn't do to have another chance. Not one thing."

Billy sank against his flattened pillow, turned his eyes from the door his doctor disappeared through as his family, his sisters and his mother, chuckled their way inside. He was happy to see them. He couldn't be alone right now, with his demons and his doctor's. He couldn't be alone at all.

* * *

It had taken three days, but Billy finally found something that countered the drowsy strength of the pain meds. Unrest. Deep, unsettling unrest.

She hadn't come back. There was no aroma of coconut lingering in the stagnant hospital air. His skin didn't tingle from her touch. He was crazy for thinking she would. Crazy or desperate.

Ashley was his designated babysitter tonight. She was already asleep on the sofa turned bed, unaided by painkillers, unbothered by the beeping or wrestling thoughts and memories. Moonlight filtered through the blinds and broke up the darkness. It was a clear night. The snow had moved on, and Billy could feel the chill of the night just from looking at a sliver of sky. It conjured the basement, the cold he couldn't escape, the fate he'd been dealt, the truth he couldn't hide from anymore.

He'd had hours to think about what he remembered. And to think about what Victoria had said, the unspoken ultimatum. And then there was Dr. Walker and the wife Billy couldn't stop thinking about. What was her name? What color were her eyes? Did he see them in his sleep, his sleep that wouldn't let him forget? What did he drink on those nights the loss came knocking at his door? Why was she not given a second chance?

Billy turned from the moon and slid his hand beneath the covers. He'd hidden the phone there, though the nurses knew he had it. He found the picture again, the one of Johnny and Katherine, and a sliver of Victoria in the background, the jaw he'd caressed a million times, the shoulder he'd pressed lips to again and again. There were more, she'd promised, and Billy scrolled through them one by one, each a little piece of home.

Victoria was right, as usual. There was a series of shots of their son's toys, a block castle in varying states of construction, action figures lined across the dining room table, a dump truck full of Kibble, a patient Keely at its side. There were several of his baby sister, sleeping, smiling, swaddled in her pink car seat. And there was one at the end that took his breath away. It was Victoria, in their bedroom, the one they'd shared for so many nights. She was in a slip, ivory-colored, that clung to her body. She was sitting on the edge of their bed, legs crossed, her damp hair fanned out by the blow dryer in her right hand. She was beautiful, so damn beautiful, but it was her eyes that caught him, tightened his chest. They were cast down, to her left hand in her lap. He knew what she was looking at, though it only appeared as a shadow in the photograph until he touched the screen and closed in on her hand. He felt guilty for a minute, seeing her in such a private moment, and then he felt blessed and sad, desperate to talk to her.

There were no numbers in his gift of a phone, but there was one he knew by heart, and touched the sequence without hesitation and only a quick cautious glance at his sister.

"Hello?" Her voice was hushed, and in the seconds following he heard her tell someone everything was okay, to go back to sleep. She wasn't alone. Of course she wasn't alone. He thought about hanging up, but it was too late, and he didn't want to. "Hello? Billy? Is that you?"

"Hey. Yeah. Hi."

"Is…are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry it's so late."

"It's okay. I was up."

A long stretch of silence followed, and in it Billy whispered a thousand apologies she would never hear. Then it came, the sigh he was waiting for, that told him she was ready to listen.

"Doc wants me to see a therapist."

"Yeah?" she said, though she didn't sound surprised. "How do you feel about that?"

Ashley stirred across the room, and he waited until she was still again to answer. "I think I'd rather drive across country with my mom and Esther. Twice." She laughed, and he smiled. "But I guess I'll do it. You think I should?"

"Yeah. I do."

His decision was made then. He would give it a try. But there was something else he had to do first. "I'll do it, Vick. I'll give my statement. On one condition."

"No conditions, Billy."

"I want you there," he blurted over her. "I'll give my statement, if you're in the room. I only want to tell the story once, and you, you need to hear it."

She didn't say anything right away, and Billy didn't push. It had taken him hours to agree. She deserved a few minutes at least. "Okay," she finally agreed, but he could hear the trepidation in her voice.

"Tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll call Detective Harding and arrange it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

He wasn't ready to say goodbye yet, and she didn't seem to be in a hurry either, but finding safe conversation after their argument was like crossing a mine field. "Hey, how's Johnny?"

"Sound asleep," she said and reached across the bed to smooth his hair. The dinosaur was tucked beneath him, his arms wrapped around the cherished toy. They were four in the bed, her and Johnny and the dinosaur, and Katherine at her breast. She didn't normally let them all sleep in her bed, but tonight she was lonely. Tonight they all needed to be together.

"Good," Billy said and smiled in the moonlight. "I should, uh, I should let you get some sleep then."

"Okay," she whispered. "You should, too. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he repeated and stifled a yawn as she said goodnight and was gone. He could sleep now, and tomorrow he would see her. It would be a hard day, one he didn't look forward to, except that she would be there. She would be there as he recounted the scariest days, the says he thought second chances were for others. Dr. Walker's words echoed in time with the machines. There was nothing he wouldn't do to see her walk through those doors again. That's what he held onto as his eyes finally drifted shut.


	12. Chapter 12

Balm

Chapter 12

"Today is Wednesday, February 25, 2015. State your name."

"Billy. Will-William Abbott. I, uh, I go by Billy. Billy Abbott."

"Okay, Billy. Let's talk. Tell me what happened."

"Where do I start?"

"Start with the 14th. The day you went missing. What did you do that day?"

"I saw my kids. I saw my kids and I took them presents. For Valentine's Day."

"And after that? Where did you go? Anything out of the ordinary happen?"

Anything out of the ordinary. This was out of the ordinary. Being in the hospital was out of the ordinary. The air in the room being as tense as a summer storm during the middle of winter was out of the ordinary. Being across the room from Victoria, a far too casual detective who'd called her "Newman" when he sauntered into the room sitting between them was out of the ordinary. A detective, ten feet, and a thousand regretted mistakes between them.

Billy sensed he was taking too long to answer, that he was looking too long at his uncertain hands, casting too many glances at Victoria, whose focus remained purposefully on her own fidgeting hands and the perfect hem of her skirt. Detective Harding sighed and turned the recorder off with an echoing click. Victoria stood quickly as if she were controlled by the device and crossed the room to the sunny window. Billy watched her lean her hip against the frame, her back to him, to them. She rocked once, twice and then flattened her back against the window. She had barely looked at him since she arrived, and now was no different. It was selfish to have asked her to come, to have essentially blackmailed her into coming. Billy knew that. He knew that it would be easier for him without her there, too. And yet, he couldn't ask her to leave, selfish as it was.

"Look, man," Harding said in the same loose manner he'd walked in the room with. She had smiled when he called her "Newman," and Billy still hated him for that. He was too loud, too cocky, too familiar with Victoria. He'd put his career on the line for Billy. That's what she had told him, but she was wrong. His being there had nothing to do with Billy. "I thought she already told you. I thought you told him. This is-it's just insurance. I'm on your side. So just-just take a deep breath or something and start talking. Whenever you're ready. No pressure"

Billy looked at Victoria again, at her dark silhouette framed in the sunlight. Her head was down, her eyes peeking over the edge of her folded arms. She was staring at her shoes or the tile on the floor, but must have felt his eyes on her, must have felt something. Her whole body exhaled, and the action seemed to force her head up, her eyes on Billy's. Or maybe she just couldn't resist the magnetic pull of his stare any longer. But in her eyes, he saw she was scared. And she was angry. He apologized without a word, for making her come, for what he was about to put her through. For everything.

In between beeps and held breath, she surrendered with a nod of her head so slight anyone else wouldn't have seen it, so slight the only other person in the room didn't see it.

"I'm ready," Billy said and forced his eyes back to the only other person in the room.

* * *

_February 14, 2015_

New snow covered the makeshift memorial, but Billy knew exactly where each faded fake flower lay, where each mud-splattered stuffed toy leaned happily against the rocky terrain. No one else had been there today. No one else had been there in weeks. And soon, he too would stop feeling compelled to come here. It was a realization that had been building slowly for weeks, a dread he had tried to suffocate with stubbornness. Until today. Until just an hour ago when the dread evaporated on a sofa that had been his, in the merciful company of someone who had loved his daughter just as much as he had. He would stop coming here, and he would stop soon. Just not today. He couldn't today.

"These are from your sister. Katherine Rose." With a watery smile he placed a bouquet of deep pink tea roses against the pristine snow. They looked unnatural there, out of place, and so pretty the combination hurt his eyes. "And this is from your brother. He, uh, he picked it out himself."

A petite, sparkly tiara joined the roses, along with the memory of Johnny in the costume store studying his options with a surprising and heartbreaking amount of understanding. The afternoon sun reflected off the largest of the plastic jewels, casting a flash of a rainbow against the cold snow. It too looked out of place to Billy as he knelt on the frozen ground and rested against his haunches. The snow began to melt through his pants on contact, but he didn't care. He barely even noticed as he closed his eyes and waited, waited through the whirring of passing cars, the starting of engines at the little market he hadn't been inside in sixteen months. He waited until the breeze shifted and whistled through the bare branches towering over him, until his pulse slowed to almost nothing and his heart was blessed with the sound he'd been hoping for.

"Hi, Daddy."

"DeeDee." Her name floated out in front of him, a frosty apparition as visible and intangible as she was. But she was there. Just like that, she was there in front of him, smiling, happy, the way he always tried to remember her, the way he always wanted to remember her. "Happy birthday, baby."

She giggled and then beamed at the gifts he'd brought her. But her interest in them was momentary, her focus returning to her father as quickly as it had left, before he could hide the sadness he'd given in to. "Why are you sad, Daddy? It's Valentine's Day. The day of love."

"I'm sorry, Dee. I know I promised you happy thoughts. It's just…happy thoughts are a little harder today."

"They weren't when you were with Johnny and my baby sister. And Victoria."

She was right. He didn't know how she was right, but she was. Less than an hour ago, he'd been home, with his family. And he'd been happy. He'd played with his son, rocked his baby daughter to sleep. And he and Victoria had talked. And laughed. They'd laughed so damn much his side still ached. They'd talked about Delia, what they'd be doing today if she were with them, and while the sadness, the regret, the missing her was still present, so was joy. True joy, joy that he now realized he'd been running from since the accident, joy that he'd made impossible to reclaim. It dawned on him in the clear winter air that someone had been absent from his visit earlier, someone other than Delia, someone Victoria had probably scheduled his visit around to avoid the awkwardness and tension. But now, that someone had probably returned, been greeted with a kiss, maybe more, played with his kids, asked if the coast was clear. Victoria had moved on, and so had he. Only, she'd chosen joy, and he'd chosen something else.

"I've made so many mistakes with them, DeeDee. With all of them," Billy said as he clasped his hands behind his head, opening his lungs up to as much cold air as he could force in them. He filled them past capacity, until it hurt. But the hurt was greater when released the breath in one huge puff of smoke. Like regret. It was always a hindsight pain.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Daddy," his little girl beamed. "That's what you always told me."

"Some people make more than others, Dee. And your dad, he holds the world record."

"Did you say you're sorry?"

He managed a soft smile at her innocence and the gentle, admonishing tilt of her head. "Yeah. For some of it. But sometimes 'sorry' isn't enough."

"Did you show them you're sorry?"

The second question in that sweet little voice startled him as much as the sight of a rainbow in the snow. He started to say "yes," out of habit mostly, but had he? Had he shown them he was sorry? He'd bought Victoria roses when he turned to another woman. Roses, instead of opening up to her, letting her share his grief. He'd wasted time and energy on discrediting Stitch, trying to make him look just as bad in Victoria's eyes, instead of just being the man she had believed in, the man she had married. Instead of smothering Johnny in love and attention to make up for those weeks he could barely hold him, he'd given that love and attention to someone else's child.

"No," he admitted with shame and razor-sharp honesty.

Delia took two steps towards him. She wasn't real. He knew that. He did. He knew that what he was seeing was what he wanted to see, what he needed to see. And yet, when her forehead touched his, he felt her. He felt the breath from her soft laugh. He felt her love and forgiveness radiate through him, and her voice fall like gentle snow on his soul.

"Show them."

He drove away from the roses and tiara with purpose and clarity. There was no impulse to practice the words he would say. "It's over. I'm leaving" would be enough. Chelsea wouldn't fight it. After their fight this morning, the fight that seemed like an everyday occurrence, she probably wouldn't even be surprised he was ready to end this mutual mistake, a mistake driven by loss and loneliness, and maybe something deeper on his end. But it had to end, and it had to end today. Billy didn't have a plan to do as Delia had directed, to show the people he loved he was sorry, but it was so clear to him that getting out a place he didn't belong was the first step in getting back to a place he longed for.

The penthouse door was ajar when he got there. It might have been an accident, a careless move on Chelsea's part or the nanny's, but as angry, desperate voices seeped through the opening, Billy's muscles seized with concern.

"It's me, Chelsea. I swear." The male voice belonged to Bingham, but the louder he got and the angrier he got, the more familiar it seemed.

"No. No, it can't be."

"It's true. My face is different, but I'm the same man. I'm the man you married in my mother's house in Kansas. And again a year ago. I delivered Johnny. Remember? In that cabin? I helped you get your GED. I proposed to you in the rain. Chelsea, it's me. You have to believe me."

"Adam?" The name tumbled from her mouth, wrapped in disbelief and hope. It shot through Billy's gut like a dart laced with poison. He peered through the crack and saw Chelsea's face, saw her hand reach for the man who was no longer a stranger. It was all he needed to be convinced that a nightmare no one could have imagined had come true.

Venom burned through him as he listened to the happy reunion, as twisted facts about Delia and the accident spewed from the resurrected. Adam promised he would tell her everything about how he survived later, and Chelsea panicked at the thought of Billy returning soon and taking him away from her again. They couldn't stay in Genoa City. On that they agreed, and in hushed, broken lovers' code, they made plans to meet and discuss their escape. But Billy wouldn't let that happen, any of it. He would rush through the door and strangle the life out of the man who'd taken the life of his child. But as his hand met the plane of the door, the low sun caught a piece of crystal on the bar, and a rainbow identical to the prism of light from the tiara landed at his feet.

_Show them_.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't make another mistake and risk hurting the people he loved all over again. Adam couldn't get away, but Billy had to do this right. He backed away from the door, out of sight, and pulled his phone from his pocket. But even as his thumb tapped the screen, he wondered if the police or anyone would believe such a story. Wondering was as far as he got when the penthouse door opened all the way and Adam flew out and disappeared into the elevator. Everything that happened after was instinct, instinct and forces out of his control.

Billy took the stairs and reached the parking garage a few breathless seconds behind the elevator. Adam pulled out fast and hit the curb. Billy counted to five and followed, repeating the license plate on the car in front of him as he attempted to call the police again. But he was too anxious, and the phone slipped from his hand and tumbled into the floorboard of the passenger seat. He tried to reach it again and again, nearly swerving into a semi more than once before giving up. He couldn't get it. He would have to call when they got wherever they were going.

He kept a safe distance as they passed farm after farm, down roads snow plows hadn't touched since the last snowfall, past a crew of utility trucks working on power lines. Only when Adam slowed and pulled into a neglected driveway twenty minutes outside of town, did Billy realize the destination. He'd never been there, but he recognized the old house that rose in the distance as the one Adam and Chelsea had lived in.

Billy stopped his car at the crumbling gate and walked to the snow-covered mausoleum with his recovered phone in hand. There was no service at the road, but he hoped there would be at the house. He followed first the tracks of Adam's car and the then footsteps of the man himself, not to the front door but around the back, down an embankment to the basement entrance and a row of three garage doors. One of the three was half-open. Adam was in there somewhere. Billy knew he had to make the call now, but there was still no service, and the adrenaline pumping through his body wouldn't allow him to stay still. He ducked under the garage door and squinted until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A car was in there, an old lady car with current tags but missing the layer of dust that covered everything else in the cluttered, cavernous space. Maybe someone did live there. Or was it part of the getaway?

Billy moved stealthily through the shadows to an open door that led inside the basement. He could make out the silhouette of a rickety wooden staircase on one wall and on another, the door to yet another room. That's where Billy heard a noise, the shuffling of feet. And that's where he found Adam, his back to the door like an amateur, the flashlight he carried illuminating dozens of discarded, musty books that carpeted the floor. He spun around at the sound of footsteps and blinded Billy with the bright beam. He'd clearly been expecting Chelsea, and when he saw it wasn't her, those eyes, those dangerous, calculating eyes widened in fear and surprise. Like a deer in headlights.

Headlights.

Like a deer in headlights. Like Delia in headlights. Were those eyes the last thing she saw as Adam's headlights blinded her beautiful brown eyes? Those beautiful eyes that now allow his son to see?

"It's over," Billy said with forced calmness. His anger was firmly lodged in his jaw. "There's nowhere to run, Adam."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Billy saw the fear subside in the taller man's eyes. He saw those eyes flit around the room, gauging his chances of escape, searching through the rolodex of lies he had on deck at all times. At his core, that's what he was about. Self-preservation. No matter the victims.

"No more lies, Adam. No more running. That night, you said you were gonna turn yourself in that night. So, come on. Let's end this. Turn yourself in."

"No." His response was simple and direct, emotionless until he shrugged and his demeanor changed. "Tell you what, Billy. I'll turn myself in as soon as you turn yourself in."

He raised his shirt with his free hand and shone the flashlight on a tiny scar at his hip. Billy remembered the gun, the gun Victoria didn't know he owned, the gun he'd used to force Adam to Delia's memorial and to her school. He remembered how the man standing in front of him had cried when he'd held the gun at his head and threatened to take everything away from him. He had no gun here, no way to force him to turn himself in.

"I'll take my chances," Billy shrugged back. "I'm pretty sure a lot of people will understand wanting to hurt the son of a bitch who killed their kid."

"It was accident, Billy. It was an accident."

"Covering it up wasn't," he shouted, and his words echoed off the walls, trapped in the room forever. This was a trap, a verbal trap that Billy felt himself falling into. But the memories, the memories of that night, Delia on the side of the road, Victoria's tear-stained face, Chloe's guttural cry, they wouldn't let him think straight.

"We've all paid a lot for that night, Billy." Adam raised his hands in peaceful surrender, and the light of the flashlight danced on the ceiling. "But I will not give up the chance to have my family back. You blew your chance, didn't you, Billy. All your chances. And now you want mine. Tell me, how much of this is about justice for Delia and how much is about making me pay for you screwing up again? Screwing," he repeated with a wry laugh. "Ah, such an appropriate word, isn't it? How many people warned my big sis she wouldn't be enough for you?"

Billy lunged at him, his fist meeting flesh and bone so hard the flashlight dropped to the floor. Adam returned the punch, but half-missed and then charged at Billy. They crashed against a falling bookcase, and bindings and loose pages rained down on them as they continued to exchange blows. Adam's eyes were on the door the whole time, and in a calculated split second, he made a run for it. But Billy was faster and more determined and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him back inside the room. He only saw her in the periphery, blurry, dim, the way he had seen her the first time in a foreign bar, a place he should have never been, a person he should have never met. She was holding something low in both her hands. That was his last thought before the universe exploded on the back of his head, before his knees met concrete and all was black.

All was black. Black and pounding. So black Billy wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not. If he were even alive or not. Somewhere above him, or around him, outside of him, a bird chirped audaciously. There weren't birds in death, were there? He was surely alive, then. Alive and in a room in a basement in a house once owned by a man who should be dead. That remembered truth pounded counter to the throbbing in his head. Slowly, he touched the base of his neck and could almost see the dark liquid left on his fingers. Above him, a dirty rectangular window that hadn't existed last night was gray and growing grayer each second that passed, until enough seconds passed and it was a pale blue eye to the rest of the world.

Billy struggled to sit, reaching vertical in painful increments. Everything in his body screamed not to, but everything not in his body told him he must. He scooted and crawled until he was below the dirty window and rolled himself upwards, against the wall. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do anything, but the pain was secondary to the need to get out of this basement and expose Adam, if it wasn't too late.

And to show them, show them he was sorry.

There were two doors in the room, both closed. The door beside him was as new as the window, but the one across from him was the one he'd come through the night before. Had it only been one night? Or longer? He couldn't be sure of the time or date. His phone. Where was his phone? He reached into his pockets, but found nothing. No wallet. No car keys. No phone. Getting out of the basement would be enough of a struggle, but getting back to civilization had just gotten infinitesimally harder. He would have to make it to the road. Flag someone down.

The door beside him was locked, a dead end. Standing was impossible, so he inched his way across the cluttered floor to the second door, optimistic it had a better chance of being unlocked. But it wasn't, and as he pushed against it, he could feel resistance stronger than a lock. Something was against it, a chair, a board.

He was defeated and exhausted and dizzy. Don't worry, he told himself as his eyelids drifted shut. They'll come for you. They always come for you.

His mouth was dry, and he heard voices on the other side of the immovable door. A man's and a woman's. The same man and the same woman, returning to the scene of the crime. The room was dark now, again. The little gray window had been taken from him, but there were voices, and he wasn't alone.

"What are we going to do, Adam? We can't-we can't just leave him here."

Adam disagreed and argued they should stick with the plan. He would drive Billy's car back to the penthouse garage and have the security video destroyed. Chelsea would tell everyone they'd broken up and he'd left. It was believable enough. It was Billy enough. They would stick it out a few days to avoid suspicion, and then the three of them, Adam, Chelsea and Conner would run off together. Happily ever after.

"There's nothing we can do, Chelsea. You him pretty hard, and he hit the floor pretty hard. He's probably dead by now," Adam added.

"But I'm not," Billy whispered into the dark. "I'm not."

"I didn't mean to hurt him. I-I-I was just so scared of losing you," the woman gasped, and the voices went silent for what felt like an eternity, so silent Billy swore he heard the rustle of clothing as the two embraced.

"It's our only chance to be together," Adam finally pleaded, and she must have agreed because there was no more conversation, and footsteps fell away from the door. But only one set. Something scraped across the concrete floor, and then the lock clicked and the door opened with a bright beam of light.

It was his chance, maybe the only one he would get. Billy tried to stand as fast and forcefully as he could, fighting through the pain and dizziness. He faltered. His head spun. The room spun. He was too weak, and Chelsea, startled by his movements, the fact he was alive and so close to her, slammed the door shut, turned the lock so fast as if she'd seen a rat or a spider.

"I'm not dead," he called as loud as his dry throat would allow him. "Have to…have to call the police."

She said nothing, but she was still there on the other side of the door. He could hear her heavy breathing, the strangled cries from her throat. "You're better than this," he said. "You and Conner deserve better."

"I can't," she cried. "I can't lose him. Not again."

"You will anyway," he yelled, and pain shot through his head and then the rest of his body. "They'll come for me. They came for me last time. That prison you had me locked in. Remember?"

"No, they won't, Billy. They haven't even called. She hasn't even called."

Her voice was cold and calm, but still trembled with fear. And it was full of frightening truth. After what he had done to them? Especially to her? Chelsea was right. They wouldn't come.

"You haven't changed, have you?" he asked just as coldly. "You're the same con from Myanmar. Looking out for yourself. Nobody else matters. Not me. Not my kids or my family."

The other side of the door went quiet, and Billy thought she'd left until he heard rustling again and the door opened once more. He was too injured and spent to move this time, and she seemed almost sorry, guilty. It gave him a flash of hope, but then she tossed a bottle of water and a box of animal crackers, the ones Johnny loved, onto the floor. The door was closed, the light gone before he could process it, and whatever had been against the door screeched hysterically back into place. Didn't she know it was crueler to prolong death?

Light and dark took turns. As did consciousness and sleep. Something deeper than sleep actually. The cold was even worse. His hands hurt, and he burrowed beneath a pile of books for warmth, until he was warm enough to believe Chelsea was wrong and they would come looking for him. They still loved him. She still loved him. She'd looked for him when he left the last time. She'd gone halfway around the world.

Billy sipped the water sparingly and ate the animal crackers slowly, biting their heads off first, then the front legs, the back, just like Johnny. Johnny. His heart ached for that little boy. And for sweet Katherine. And Victoria. Jack, Ashley. Traci. His mother. He said their names over and over again in the dark. He pictured them in his head, their smiling faces, urging him to fight, to not give up on himself. These were the people he longed for, the ones he missed, the ones whose love had sustained him through so much, even when he wouldn't admit it or accept it.

He could still get out, could still get back to them and show them. When the window turned grey again, he surveyed his prison. The door he'd come through was out of the question now. It was too blocked. The window was not an option either. It was too high, and he too unable to stand much less climb. The door beside the window was his only hope, and he made the slow, arduous journey back across the room. It was different than the other door. It was cold to the touch, probably led outside, which meant the hinges, the hinges were on the inside. They were old and rusty and made with the solid construction of an older generation. Still, Billy searched his meager surroundings until he found a stash of pencils and an old brick he could use to knock the nail from the hinge.

The work was grueling and often seemed a waste of time, but he worked slowly and steadfastly. When he worked he pictured Adam's face or Victor's, using anger to fuel him. When it grew dark and he rested, he pictured his family, made up conversations with them, planned celebrations and holidays. He made promises and vows to every God he could think of that if he made it out alive, these would all come true.

The bottom hinge was the easy one, and even that took forever. To reach the top one, he saved up as much energy as he could, but once he slid up the wall and came eye to eye with the last nail to freedom, he was blessed to see the entire hinge was already crumbling and needed only one good hit with the brick to fall away. The door fell inward with a sigh, landed with a thud, and sunlight bouncing off fresh snow blinded him. The cold air smacked him in the face, but he inhaled wildly. He was free, half the battle won, and based on the position of the sun, he had a few hours of daylight to make it to the road and flag down a savior.

He made it a few feet in the snow, crawling over unfamiliar terrain, when his energy gave out and he collapsed. He would rest. Just a few minutes. But he felt that sleep deeper than sleep coming over him, and just before his eyes closed, a familiar shadow fell over him, and he knew. Freedom was a fleeting thing, hope a trap for the optimistic.

"So, Chelsea was right," Adam said over him. "Nice try, Billy, but you're not going anywhere. Not yet."

His arms hurt when he woke again, his arms and his ribs. The light was growing dimmer in the little window, but he didn't need light to know something was different. He was restrained. Rope burned around both of his wrists, burned worse the more he struggled, but he struggled still.

It was no use. This was it. This was the end. The dark, freezing end. He thought of Victoria. When she'd been kidnapped, afterward, she'd said it was so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. He knew that darkness, was responsible for that darkness, and yet, she'd forgiven him. She'd forgiven him time and time again, prickly badges he'd worn as failures instead of accepted as grace. He prayed his children would learn the difference, that they would love like their mother. His absence might make that possible.

If it were so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, how could you be sure your hand was real? Or that anything else wasn't? You can't, he answered himself. So, Victoria was sitting in front of him. She wore a red dress, a sun dress, and it was warm outside. She smiled at him, and took his hand, said the kids were with the sitter, they had the whole place to themselves.

"Why are you here?" he asked her.

"Because you want me here," she answered, the smile still in place.

"But I hurt you. I always hurt you." Her hand was warm, her fingers twisted between his, rubbing the band of his tattoo ring, all of it, because in the dark, it was all still there.

"I love you," she said, and she was no longer smiling. She was crying, but his face was the one wet.

He wept. He wept for her, for his family. He wept for himself and the end. For all the things he had done wrong, and all the things he'd done right and would never experience again. He wept for Delia, her death and her face on Christmas morning. He wept for Johnny, the way he'd come into the world and his untouchable spirit. He wept for baby Katherine, all he'd miss, all he would miss and her sweet little breath on his chest. He wept for Victoria, the hurts he'd caused her, the love they'd shared, a white dress, a red dress, a whisper of love in the breathy throws of passion, a smile that made his heart beat twice as fast. And he wept for himself, a man who had come so close, who'd held the world in his hand and instead of holding it tight, dropped it for feeling unworthy.

When he could cry no more, he stopped and listened to his breathing, counting the shallow breaths as they came. He could feel life slipping from him like a slow leak, but there was still life. There was still fight. He got angry, angry and determined. He banged his right arm against the wall. Again and again, he banged it, ignoring the crunch of bone, until the rope loosened and his hand was free. He felt superhuman, driven, full of purpose again. He untied his other hand and stood without thinking. The door was only leaning inside the frame. That's what it looked like, but when he attempted to rip it off, he found it was nailed shut from the outside. Blocked. Like the other one. Still, he rammed his body against it, over and over, until his superhuman energy depleted and the numbing pain paralyzed him.

He lay on the cold, concrete floor, broken and defeated. He'd fought. He'd done all he could do. All but say goodbye. He owed her that and swept his hands side to side like he was making a snow angel, until he touched paper. He rolled to his side and crept along on his belly in search of a pencil. He found something else instead. Beneath a pile of books, probably lost during the fight with Adam, was his phone. It still worked, 5% of the battery remaining. It was 5:46 p.m. on February 19, 2015. He'd been there five days. And no one had come. And no one would. He had no service. This was it.

In the light of his phone with a broken arm and a broken pencil, he wrote the things he would never get the chance to say to the woman who had saved his life one New Year's Eve and every night since, until he stopped letting her. He imagined her reading it, hating him, and then one day accepting it as the last thing he could do for her and their kids. And maybe if he was lucky, every now and then she would think of him, of them, and smile.

He folded the note tight in the palm of his hand and squeezed it with the rest of his life. In the floor, with 3% of battery life, he scrolled through pictures of the best of his life. Delia. Reed. Johnny. Katherine. Victoria. Picture after picture, and when his phone died, he saw their faces still, even as he was carried into the fiery pits of hell that smelled like his father's favorite scotch and then dragged out and into the snow by a grim reaper with no face.

"Son? Son? Can you hear me? Help is here." Until the paramedic screamed into his face, Billy was certain that he'd only been spared hell.

"Her," he muttered semiconscious as his gripped hand fell open. "Give it to her."

* * *

Between the steady beeps from the last of the monitors, the tape recorder hummed, and three motionless people breathed without sound. At some point during Billy's statement, Victoria had turned way from him again, back towards the window, and in the silence now, her hand rose to her hidden face for the briefest of seconds. She sniffled once, and that was the last sound recorded.

"I don't…I don't remember anything else," Billy said after Harding clicked the machine off. "'Cept Victoria. Waking up here, and Victoria."

"I think it's enough. It's plenty," the detective said. "We should probably leave out the part where you talked to your daughter, but if the doc can corroborate the injuries, it's enough."

Across the room, Victoria cleared her throat and roughly smoothed her clothes free of invisible dust. "I need to-I need to just call the sitter," she said as she shot towards the door, her eyes straight in front of her. "And you should rest."

Billy resisted the urge to call out to her, beg her to stay. It hurt how much he wanted to say her name, and even if she was lying about needing to call the sitter, he sensed she needed some time alone, away from him. But she eased some of the pain when she stopped at the door and ducked her head softly. "I'll be back. Later."

"Hey, I'll walk you out," Harding called, but she didn't wait. "Hey, man, you think of anything else, give me a call. Okay?"

"Sure," Billy said through gritted teeth and picked up the business card the detective tossed at him before rushing after Victoria. She was right. He was tired and needed to rest, but not too tired to feel the sting of jealousy.

Harding had to jog down the halls of the ICU to catch up with Victoria's pace. He raced her to the button that would free them from the ward, and when he hit it and the doors opened, she jumped, having forgotten his existence.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said when she spun around too fast and they nearly collided. "Where's the fire?"

His levity was unwanted, had no place in this place. He realized that as soon as she looked at him. Her pale blue eyes were tinged with red and had that look he was too familiar with, the one he'd seen thousands of times from victims' families. She was full of rage and sadness and helplessness and had nowhere to put any of it. "I know," he said softly and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I know."

She sighed and let him lead her towards the waiting room, but she stopped, they stopped, when the elevator doors opened and Chelsea Lawson stormed towards Victoria. The frazzled woman didn't seem to notice Harding's existence either until he stepped protectively in front of his companion, and even then, she only took a step back before starting her verbal assault.

"You people are hell-bent on taking everything away from me, aren't you?" she shouted. "Huh?"

Victoria was a statue, and Harding feared her newfound truth and contempt were building to an explosive and violent act. If she were anyone else, any woman other than the one raised as Victor Newman's daughter, he would have been right.

"Jack," Chelsea explained, angrier, as if Victoria and the whole world should already know her despair. "He-he, he's dropping my line from Jabot. Just like that. He's giving me nothing for it and says I don't have the right to my own name because it's Jabot's intellectual property. I'm ruined. First, you take Adam from me and now this."

Victoria's hand found the forearm of her protector. Her palm was soft but in charge, and his skin tingled beneath the dark hair as she gently pushed him to the side. "Good," she stated coldly. "He never should have invested in you. After what you did to Billy."

Chelsea cowered at her iciness, her mouth open, without purpose as she looked at Victoria, then the detective, and back again. The truth, the whole truth was hanging between them now. Undoubtedly. Victoria knew Chelsea's role in Billy's condition, knew it as fact now, not just suspicion. This was why the detective was here. Adam's secrets were on record now, and so were hers.

"You're alive, Chelsea," Victoria continued, stepping closer to her. "And so is your child. Your beautiful, precious child. And the man you love, though God knows why you do. The way I see it, you're being handed a gift, another incredible gift from a man who owes you nothing. Nothing. You can sketch more designs. Start a new line. A new life. What are you waiting for?" She yelled the last, startling the woman backwards, but her anger was still very much under control. "Take it. Take it! Do you know how many people would love to have this chance? Take it. Go."

"It'll be dark soon," Harding interrupted casually. "I expect you'll be gone by then, Ms. Lawson. If not, I'll see you at the penthouse at 7:00 p.m. With an arrest warrant."

Chelsea trembled. And gasped for air that brought her no relief. There was no argument left. She softened in defeat, and a look that was almost human graced her face. "What will you tell Johnny? About me?"

"That giving him to me and Billy was the nicest thing you ever did."

It was the truth, the only truth Victoria could live with telling her son, and Chelsea agreed with a resigned nod of her head. And when she asked if she could say goodbye to the little boy she would probably never see again, Victoria mustered enough humanity and motherly love to concede, but only when Harding insisted he escort her.

She held it together as her father had taught her, as she'd taught herself, until the two were nearly out sight, and Chelsea turned back one more time.

"Victoria? I never meant to hurt him. I swear. You know you've been given a gift, too. Another chance with the man you love. Though God knows why you do."

* * *

Darkness had spread outside his hospital room while he slept, the window Victoria had stood in front of earlier no longer sunny. He felt lighter, free of the weight of a harbored secret, and yet heavy still from sleep and morphine. He was alone. Billy was certain he was alone until he turned his head and saw a stranger sitting beside him, perfectly upright, perfectly still, perfectly staring at him.

"Hello," the woman said. Her voice was melodious and deep and smooth like brandy. Her skin shimmered like melted milk chocolate even in the dim hospital light, the color blending with her close-cut hair. She was older than she looked. He could tell by the proper demeanor of a different generation and the wisdom in her warm light brown eyes that sparkled behind tortoise shell frames. He guessed who she was by the way she studied him. Or what she was rather.

"You here to shrink my head?"

She laughed, a laugh that cracked the air like rock candy breaking. She'd heard the joke about her profession before, many, many times before. But Billy knew that was not why she laughed. She was laughing at him, at his wariness of her, his mild contempt at her presence.

"Not today, Billy. Today I came to say 'hello.' See how you're healing."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, too quickly to be true. "I just need to go home, Dr…."

"Dr. Alice Davis-Greene. That's what the bills will say, but I prefer first names, Billy. You can call me Alice." She smiled, and the invisible lines around her eyes appeared for a second. "You can even call me CeCe. That's what my baby brother nicknamed me when I was four years old."

"No, thanks. Dr. Davis-Greene."

She laughed again, again at him. "David told me you were a stubborn one. But that's okay. I like the stubborn ones. I am the stubborn ones."

She stood before Billy could ask who David was, before he could connect the name to the little plastic badge his doctor wore on his white coat. Maybe he had been hypnotized by the swirling folds of her long yellow skirt or her wrist-full of silver bracelets that jingled when she folded her coat and purse across her arm. Or maybe it was because Victoria walked through the door.

"Hello, I'm Alice." The doctor smiled and extended her hand to Victoria.

Victoria stared at the outstretched hand and then the man she couldn't avoid behind the hand. She wasn't surprised to find Billy had company; this just wasn't the person, any of the people she expected to see.

"Hi," she finally said when her manners returned and she shook the stranger's hand. "Victoria Newman."

"Victoria," the doctor repeated, her senses heightened by the instant changes in the room, the other woman's split attention, her new patient's softened edges, his eyes hazy with hope and uncertain expectations. He was a little boy, not a stubborn man, and the woman in front of her was the cause, the woman whose own body language was harder to read behind the façade. But the simple truth boiled down to the simple and ever complicated mysteries between a man and a woman, between a particular man and a particular woman. "I have a feeling we'll be getting to know each other well, Victoria. And you, Mr. Abbott, I'll see you on Saturday."

Victoria shot Billy a quizzical look as the stranger departed. He shrugged it off as nothing important, but as soon as the doctor was gone she wished she had stayed, that someone else was in the room. It was the first time she and Billy had been alone since this morning, since the truth, his truth, was out in the open. She saw him different now. His injuries weren't just the injuries that had scared her so bad that first night. They had stories now, awful, hurtful stories. His broken arm wasn't just a broken arm. It was the arm he'd broken when trying to escape her own brother, the arm that was broken when he'd written his goodbye to her, the one she still carried in her purse.

"You okay?"

His voice saved her, saved her from a train of thought that would serve no purpose for either of them. When she looked him in the eyes, the irony of the question curled her lip into a half-smile. "Yeah," she said and eliminated the four squares of tile that loomed between them. "Are you?"

He almost smiled and steadied his eyes on hers while his hand moved, inched along the covers until it found hers. He looped a finger around one of hers, and she let him, relished it, but only for a minute before pulling away to search for the little tin of balm she had abandoned here.

Billy smiled and inhaled deeply when she unscrewed the lid, as deeply as his sore ribs and healing lungs could, like a thirsty man gulping water. He hadn't realized how he had looked forward to this, how he had missed it last night, so he was okay with pretending nothing else existed in the world, that earlier today was a bad dream, that the last few days had been a bad dream. But they were still there. They were there when she pulled back the covers to reveal the burn on his pale, scrawny leg. He watched her stare at it for a long time, wondered if this was still too much for her. He could just release her from this, spare her any more pain, but before he could break his own heart, she sighed and placed her hand on his leg, her eyes on him. Her touch was warm, and it should have been exciting, even dangerous, but the look on her face sobered everything.

"Chelsea's gone," she said, surprising him.

"Good."

"We let her off. She's probably on her way to meet up with Adam."

"Conner deserves better," he said, "but I don't care. I just want to put all that in the past, Vick."

"Listen," she said and flashed her pale blue eyes at him quickly. She hadn't been able to shake Chelsea's last words to her. She knew it was what everyone else was thinking, too, even those who didn't know about her breakup with Ben. This accident, this would lead to yet another reunion, the last one they would all say with knowing, winking smiles. Maybe she had even thought it, too. In those intimate moments, the quiet darkness when it seemed possible to love this man completely again, to trust him. She felt herself falling, being pulled into the trap every time she stepped inside the hospital room. And then today, the words he'd said, that she'd been with him in that basement, that she was what kept him holding on.

"When you were unconscious…" she started again. "When you were unconscious, I made a lot of promises. To you. To our kids. To God. And I intend to keep them, Billy. I will be here. Everyday. I will help you heal. I will bring you whatever you need. I will be available 24/7."

"Then…when you're better, when you're healed, life will go back to normal. I'll have my life. You'll have yours. And we'll co-parent to the best of our abilities. That's all. That's all."

He felt drunk, but nodded like he understood, understood and accepted that they were over and this terrible twist of fate did not change anything. That seemed to ease her, and she relaxed and talked. They talked about the new pictures she had sent him of the kids, Reed, the weather, anything and everything as she applied balm to each of his wounds with the same gentleness and love as always. But as he watched her hands move, her fingers circle his wounds with that coconut-scented miracle balm, he vowed to never heal.


	13. Chapter 13

Balm

Chapter 13

"Sage left town? When did that happen?"

"Few days ago."

Her brother's tense grip on the mug in front of him belied his quick, casual response. So did his avoidance of her gaze. Behind him, Victoria checked on Johnny, who had moved on from bussing tables to "helping" Dylan run the cash register. The Saturday morning stroller crowd, of which she was a proud new member, had taken over the coffeehouse, and her son was in heaven taking their money, selling them sugary treats with his father's charm and devilish grin. He was occupied for the foreseeable future, and Katie was content in her stroller. There was nothing to prevent her from asking the inevitable next question, the one she and her brother both seemed afraid of.

"What happened?"

Nick looked up from his coffee without moving his head, his eyes steady and unwavering. He knew. He knew the secret a handful of people had sworn to never reveal. He knew that secret and more. He knew that Sage had known all along it was Adam posing as Gabriel Bingham. Of course she had known.

"She left a note," he continued as the nightmare of a puzzle continued to grow, pieces Victoria hadn't thought to look for coming together in her head like falling dominoes. "Says she left a confession with the police, too." He scoffed and took a long drink of his coffee before settling back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, not in self-defense like she was prone to, but in defiance, a challenge. "So, is it true? Adam's alive? And he got off scot-free? Again?"

"Yes." She couldn't lie to her brother, even if she wanted to. "Look, Nick—"

"And you're okay with that, Vick?"

His accusing tone stung her like only a person you love can do, and the worst part was she understood. After everything Adam had done to their family, to Nick and Sharon, to Ashley, to Faith, Victoria understood completely how he could question her. But understanding didn't make the hurt in his eyes easier to take, and she sought out Johnny for comfort and reassurance as she tried to mount a defense. The little boy waved at her excitedly from behind the counter, and she smiled and waved back before he forgot about her again and returned his toddler attention to the family of three waiting for their change. Beside her, Katie fussed in her stroller, but before Victoria could turn to soothe the baby, Nicholas beat her to it and was pulling his niece into his arms. The baby stopped crying immediately, but Victoria handed him a bottle anyway. When he reached to take it, she hung on, tightening her grip until he stopped fighting and she knew he was ready to listen.

"No," she said softly. "I'm not okay with it, Nicholas. Not with any of it, but…my kids are going to see their father today. And I'm- I'm actually pretty terrified about that. I'm scared that Johnny's going to be scared or uncomfortable at the very least when he sees Billy with all those cuts and bruises. A cast on his arm. In a wheelchair." She stopped only to exhale and gather herself, to gain control over the moisture pooling in her eyes. Her fear was tangible and all these emotions too much for the Saturday morning stroller crowd. "But he gets to see his dad, Nick. And Katie gets to know him. She gets to grow up with her father always around. A few days ago, I wasn't sure she would have that. That either of them would have that. So, no, I'm not okay with Adam getting away with his crimes again, but I have to be. For my kids."

Somewhere in the course of her plea, Nicholas's eyes had drifted to the little pink bundle he cradled so lovingly, so protectively. They stayed there long after, and Victoria knew he was thinking about Faith, probably how he had missed this part of her life, possibly how he still wanted to punish Adam for stealing those precious months from him. In retrospect, her speech may have done more harm than good, and she released her grip on the bottle in defeat. But Nick surprised her by doing the same, his handing reaching for hers to take its place. He squeezed it gently, and when he looked up at her, he was smiling. It was over. All was forgiven.

"I am sorry about Sage, though," Victoria said when the tension had fully dissipated. "I know you liked her. I'm sorry she hurt you."

"That's okay. I guess only one of us can be in a steady relationship at one time. Looks like it's your turn." Victoria's brow wrinkled in confusion until she remembered it had been a while since she and her brother had talked, really talked. And with all the drama of the last few days, her romantic status was at the bottom of any list of hot topics of conversation, not that she really wanted to discuss her most recent failed relationship. She quickly cut her eyes away from her brother, but her face gave away the truth. "Are you kidding?" Nick asked in disbelief. "You and Stitch? When did that happed?"

"A few days ago," she mimicked with a shrug. "Seems Billy's…accident has been hard on a lot of people. Ben couldn't understand why I needed to be involved. And I couldn't explain it."

"I'm sorry, Vick. I mean I guess I can see where it'd be tough for him. But I get where you're coming from, too. It's hard not to be there for someone you care about." Katie was wide awake in his arms, and he took a break from the serious stuff to make silly faces at her. When he looked back, there was a devilish, questioning sparkle in his eyes. "So you and Billy getting back together?"

"No!" she protested loud enough to earn the momentary attention of several patrons and Johnny, too. "No, Nicholas. I am not getting back together with Billy. And I've made that abundantly clear to him. We are co-parents. And-and-and for the kids, I am going to be there for him until he has completely recovered. That's it. That's all. I can guarantee you this tragic turn of events will not yield any grand romantic reunions."

"Grand romantic reunions? Wow. Not even 'for the kids,'" he teased, and she balled up a napkin and threw it in his direction. He swatted it away before it even cleared the table. "Hey, I said I understand, Vick."

"We're not," she reiterated harshly. "I know that's the whispers behind my back. It's written across everyone's faces. The little smiles and looks they think I don't see. I'm always going to care about Billy. And not just because he's Katie and Johnny's dad. I admit that, okay. But too much has happened, and too much will happen again. I just can't do it. I won't."

"Okay," he conceded and shifted Katie so that she lay along his forearm looking up at him. Her little tongue moved in and out of her mouth, again and again until a string of excited babbles pierced the air. "Huh? What's that, Katie? You don't believe Mommy either? Don't let her hear you say that, kid. She thinks she's a terrific liar."

"Give me back my child." Nick was laughing, and Victoria had to bite her lip not to. Despite his teasing, it was good to see his mood had improved since he walked in the coffeehouse.

"I gotta get going anyway. Bye, Lil Bit." He kissed his niece on the head and handed her off to her mother, who he also kissed on the head with a final chuckle.

"Hey, Nick, you're still gonna help me today, aren't you?" Vulnerability emerged from beneath her façade of irritation, and her pleading eyes bore holes of desperation into her brother and best friend as he slipped on his coat and looped his scarf around his neck. He smiled and nodded, but she didn't relax until he picked up the leather bag at her feet and headed for the exit, stopping only for a fist bump from Johnny.

A young, friendly blonde who worked at the coffeehouse every other Saturday morning took over at the register so that Dylan and Johnny could abandon their post. She could tell from the puppy dog eyes on both that they wanted something before they even reached her. But when Dylan asked if it was okay if Johnny helped him look for decorations in the stockroom, she wrinkled her forehead and scanned the bare walls of the coffeehouse. Only now did she notice the hearts and arrows and cupids were gone, probably had been since the last time she saw Billy before the accident.

"Decorations for what?"

"St. Patrick's Day," Dylan announced in a terrible Irish accent that conjured another terrible Irish accent. And images of green beer and boxers and an airport bar. "It's only a couple weeks away."

It was almost March. Of course it was. It would be spring soon, not that time or dates had mattered much lately. "Sure," she smiled, "but just for a few minute, okay. Then we have to go."

They left her alone with the dwindling crowd and memories neither one could know used to make her smile and blush, memories that today only renewed a burning, hollow feeling in her gut, the longing for something precious lost. Quickly, though, with the hungry cry of an infant warm and safe in her arms, she was reminded that not everything precious had been lost.

"I wasn't lying, you know," she whispered against the top of her daughter's head as she offered her the bottle that had been abandoned in the middle of the table.

She wasn't. She wasn't lying, and she believed that Her goal was for Billy to get better. It was the reason she still showed up every evening once the kids were in bed, the reason she applied healing balm to every single wound with as much care and attention as the very first night. And though things were a little more awkward since Billy gave his statement, they were still able to talk easily about the kids, just like any co-parents would do.

But maybe there were things she hadn't admitted to her brother. Things she didn't like to think too hard about herself. Things that were also true, but that didn't negate the truths she had spoken out loud. Like that she looked forward to going to see him. And it wasn't just every evening she stopped by. She went at lunch most days, and she was there yesterday when he was moved to his new room, a dozen roses and a goody bag of Newman cosmetics for every nurse in the ICU, signed from Katie and Johnny, but the thanks mostly hers.

She like spending time with him again. That was true, too. And she liked being a part of his recovery, discussing his condition and the next steps with Dr. Walker. Her purpose was clear in those conversations – heal him. Make him better. But when the end of the night came, and Billy was asleep and she didn't want to leave? That was a truth that scared her like a tremor in her soul.

The clank of heavy ceramic against the table brought her back to Saturday morning, freeing her from truth with a tiny jump. A plate with one perfect, huge chocolate-covered doughnut centered in the middle slid across the table and stopped perfectly, precisely in front of her. The glaze glistened and tempted despite the massive shadow that fell over the table.

"You think I forget my debts, Newman?" Harding asked with a gruffness she now knew was an act. She smiled without meaning to, more than relieved to have this uncomplicated distraction.

"Hmmm, as I recall, you only owe me half a doughnut."

"Alright then." He sat without being asked, a habit she was getting used to, and grabbed the doughnut from the plate, his fingers unafraid of the chocolate mess. He held it in front of her, and like a pro, Victoria transferred Katie's bottle to her left hand and broke off half of the gooey treat. He wolfed his half down in two easy bites and licked his fingers noisily clean.

"She's cute," he said, his mouth still full.

"Thank you."

"So, uh, she need her espresso fix or something?"

Again Victoria smiled without meaning to. "Something like that. We're actually just waiting for her big brother to finish helping Uncle Dylan in the back. Then we're, uh, we're headed to the hospital to see their dad."

"Oh, I was just there. At the hospital. Billy signed the written statement, so once it's filed, the case will be closed. Well, closed for as long as a certain someone keeps his end of the bargain."

The young blonde brought Harding his coffee in a to-go cup and while she was there, offered to refill Victoria's mug. She declined, but the interruption, brief as it was, washed a shroud of silence over the table. Victoria watched as Harding doctored his coffee with packet after packet of sugar. Just like Billy, she found herself thinking. Quickly she shoved half of her part of the chocolaty doughnut in her mouth.

"So, how you been?" Harding asked as he secured the lid back on his Styrofoam cup. "You doing okay after the other day? That was some pretty heavy stuff."

She was still chewing, but he waited patiently for her to answer. Or to find an answer rather. What could she tell him? That she kept herself busy all hours of the day so she wouldn't accidentally think about Billy in that basement? That even still, she'd woken up the last three nights in a row freezing, shivering in the dark, so cold she was certain she was there with him, the heavy damp smell suffocating her until she turned on every light in the house to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," she lied once she'd forced the mouthful down. The rest of the doughnut she returned to the plate, and she used the balled up napkin she'd thrown at Nicholas to wipe her fingers on. "Yeah, I'm…good. I'm…the last couple of weeks have been a little bit of a detour, I admit. But I survived. We all survived, and now we're focused on moving forward. Getting back on track."

"You don't really strike me as the 'detour' type."

"I'm not," she admitted with an easy laugh. "Don't get me wrong, I've taken a few leaps in my life. Done some crazy things. But no, I guess overall I'm pretty boring."

He reached across the table without warning, over his coffee, over hers, his strong hand landing at her mouth. The move surprised her, and she flinched, backed away, but her flinching didn't scare him off. He moved with her and wiped away a smear of chocolate with a tenderness foreign to Neanderthals. "I didn't say boring, Newman."

His hand lingered until a little tow-headed boy came running at her, three one dollar bills in one hand, a handful of change in the other. He was also wearing a bright green sticker on his shirt that said "Kiss Me I'm Irish."

"Where did you get all that?" Victoria asked with exaggerated cheerfulness. "That's a lot of money."

"He earned it," Dylan said as he caught up and dropped a box marked with a Shamrock at their feet. "One for cleaning tables. One for working the counter. And one for helping me find all this. The change is his tip money. He's a hard worker. Got a job here whenever he wants."

"Way to go, J-Man," Harding said and high-fived the little boy.

Johnny seemed enamored with the detective. He his eyes lit up and he went right to him and whispered something in his ear. Their closeness puzzled Victoria until she remembered Harding had taken Chelsea to say goodbye to him, and all that Johnny mentioned about the day was the funny policeman with candy in his coat pocket. And candy was exactly what the funny policeman pulled from his coat pocket now.

"We better make sure it's okay with your mom," he said as he held up two Pixy Stix, an orange and a blue. Johnny rushed to her side, hugging her tight, his lower lip pleading for her to say 'yes.'

"Okay," she sighed, but grabbed the offering before Johnny's little hands could get to them. "But you can't have them now. We have to go. Daddy's waiting to see you."

Johnny forgot all about the candy at the mention of his father and started packing up their things without being asked. Harding stood, and he, too, prepared to leave with as little fanfare as he'd arrived with.

"Hey, thanks for the doughnut," Victoria called as he headed for the door.

"I still owe you a beer," he grinned. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, curling up at just the place he had touched her. "See ya around, Newman."

"I'm sure I will, Harding."

Uncomplicated teetered on the verge of slightly complicated, but not for long. Johnny jingled his change impatiently, his coat already on, and dug through the box of decorations as he waited for his sleeping baby sister to be strapped back into her stroller. There was no time for detours today, complicated or uncomplicated. She had two kids who needed to see their father and a boxful of shamrocks to escape from. More than anything, Victoria needed this day to go smooth and drama-free, for the kids and for herself. She just couldn't deal with anymore surprises for a while.

But that just might require a little luck of the Irish.

* * *

It took two nurses to get him out of the wheelchair and back into his hospital bed, one to hold his useless body up while the other wheeled the chair away. Between them and his mother hovering like a wild animal guarding its food, the room felt like a jail cell or a coffin, and Billy struggled against the urge to lash out at all of them. Even while swimming in gratitude and second chances, old aggravations and habits found cracks to grow in.

"So, how was physical therapy?" Jill asked cheerfully as soon as the room's occupancy diminished by half. She more than made up for it, though, flitting about, fluffing pillows, readjusting his covers, tucking the ends around him like he had no memory of her doing as a child.

"It was swell, Mom," he answered through a tight jaw and fake smile. "I got to walk across a tiny little room with a walker that had tennis balls on the ends. I made it twice before I got dizzy and my legs gave out. Oh and then, then I got to sit in a wheelchair and lift five pound weights while the old lady next to me lifted ten pound weights."

"Billy," she scolded and cupped his chin in her hand, mindful of his injuries, but shaking his face roughly anyway, as if she could force the negativity out of him. "It is going to take time, son. But you're making progress. You're out of the ICU. You're getting back on your feet. You have a lot of things to look forward to."

"Like what? Beating the old lady?"

"Like…Victoria." His jaw tensed, and he pushed his mother's hand away from him. "Well, she's bringing the kids today, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," he murmured, an involuntarily smile spreading across his face at the thought of seeing his children. Both of them this time. Katie again and Johnny for the first time since the accident. And Victoria. He would get to see Victoria, too, mark another visit off before the visits ended and she stopped coming.

"She's been spending a lot of time here. That's promising." A singsong voice and hands planted on her hips, Jill was the spitting image of the cat who ate the canary. She was pleased with herself and ignorant of her son's growing agitation. "You're getting your life back, Billy. You're getting your family back."

"Stop. Would you just-just stop." She was so happy, happier than he'd seen her in months. And proud. It was no small thing seeing her proud of him for the first time in even longer. It would hurt to break her heart, but it hurt his heart more listening to her wax on about a dream that Victoria had made clear would stay a dream. "Victoria's been here because of the kids. The kids, Mom. That's all."

"Now you listen to me, Billy Abbott. You can grit your teeth and you can roll your eyes at me all you want. You can keep lying to me about what happened to you and why that detective was here this morning. But you do not get to tell me I'm wrong about you and Victoria. I can see things, all sorts of things, with my own two eyes, and she is NOT just showing up here 'because of the kids.'"

"I agree," came a strangely familiar voice from the open doorway. It was strange in its familiarity, both in sound and audacity, like a family member butting into your personal business. But the woman standing in the doorway, her brightly colored clothing matching the intensity of her smile, was no relation to him or anyone he knew.

"I apologize for interrupting," Dr. Davis-Greene said and glided across the threshold, the blue-green of her skirt flowing about her ankles like the tide. She and Jill exchanged introductions and subtly sized each other up. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you're settling into your new digs. And to make sure we're still on for this afternoon? My office. 4 o'clock."

"Nah, I can't, I can't really make it today," Billy shrugged. "My kids are coming soon, so I won't have time."

"We can reschedule then. How's Monday?"

"Actually, Doctor, I've changed my mind about the whole therapy thing." He didn't mention that this change of heart had happened three days ago, at the very moment Victoria sat at his bedside, her skin on his skin, and made it clear she was not interested in a reconciliation. And since he had only agreed to therapy because of her in the first place, there seemed no point in it now.

"C'mon, Billy. You'll finally get to blame me for everything. In a professional setting for once."

Jill's attempt at levity earned no laughs. Dr. Davis-Greene remained focused on the patient, and Billy remained focused on driving everyone from the room. "I need to work on getting out of here," he said. "And no offense, but you can't help with that. You can't help my lungs heal or make my muscles get stronger. You don't really know about any of that stuff."

"I know you're frustrated." The doctor's smile was ever-present, remained warm and genuine, but her voice became stern, clinical for the first time in their two brief meetings. "And you feel pretty useless right now, don't you? Maybe even worthless. You hate your body. You feel betrayed by your body because it won't do the things you want it to do, the things you used to do without thinking about them. Without a walker. You're embarrassed, too, aren't you? It's a blow to your manhood to be here, to be a victim. And you're angry. You're so very angry at whoever did this to you, and you're maybe even angry that you have to open up and show love and gratitude to all these people who care about you, who've been here day and night taking care of you. That about right?"

Billy didn't answer. His jaw tightened even more, and he looked away from the woman who'd just exposed him in a way no one ever had, a woman who made it known she wasn't finished by the way she moved closer to him. His mother just watched, mouth open, heart bleeding right in front of him.

"And then there are the other things. The things that have nothing to do with why you're in here. Or maybe they have everything to do with why you're in here. Maybe your mother isn't far off. Maybe you do blame her. Or maybe that's her own insecurities she's projecting onto you. And actually, Billy, you can't change your mind. You don't get that option. Therapy is mandatory after a brain injury like yours. So if getting out of here really is your goal, I'll see you this afternoon. Or first thing Monday morning."

The tide receded, and Jill abandoned her son to follow the doctor out of the room. "Doctor," she called and increased her speed to catch up. She was breathless by then, but Dr. Davis-Green was the picture of serenity, her smile still warm and genuine. "You were pretty tough on my son in there."

"Is that a complaint?"

"No," Jill chuckled. "On the contrary, he needs that kind of tough love. My son has been through a lot-"

"I can see that, Mrs. Atkinson. I can see his suffering. Beyond the cuts and broken bones, I can see his suffering."

Jill took the stranger's hand in hers and then the other, squeezing them between her own like forced prayer. "Please. Please help him."

"I fully intend to."

Billy punched the mattress and cursed his broken body. And the doctor with two last names and no sense of professionalism. His kids were coming. They would be here in a few minutes and instead of being happy, thinking about them, preparing for them, all he could think about was throwing every single object within reach across the room. And when an obnoxious set of raps beat against his door, he prepared to launch a bottle of water at whoever it was. His mother. The doctor. Any one of the cheerful nurses. But it was his former brother-in-law who stuck his head inside the room, and Billy feared he had come to say Victoria had changed her mind and he wouldn't be seeing his children today.

"You up for some company?"

"Uh, sure, man."

Nicholas wasn't alone. Summer was with him, rounding the corner next, a huge smile on her face, though both tried not to stare at him and his injuries.

"Wow," Billy groaned with the hint of a smile. "I must be doing one hell of a Elephant Man impression."

Summer seemed embarrassed, a little ashamed, but Nick clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I wasn't going to say anything, but I sure hope you feel better than you look. It's a shame Halloween's so far away."

"Dad!" Summer admonished and smacked him in the shoulder, but Billy laughed, a real laugh that hurt his ribs, but felt good. Felt real.

"That's actually why we're here. Vick told us how terrible you look," Nick said and held up a leather bag Billy only now realized he'd carried into the room. "She sent some clothes, some sweats, a T-shirt. She thought maybe you wouldn't want to see the kids in that sexy hospital gown."

Billy was speechless. What could he say? She knew him so well. Took care of him so well. And their kids.

"Jack'll be in a minute to help you change. And Summer here, she has some hair goo and a whole slew of really fantastic Newman cosmetics cause frankly they're better than that junk Jabot makes. She can help you cover up some of those bruises."

Nick left the bag and bowed out of the room with a kiss to his daughter and a slight trace of guilt or maybe camaraderie. Summer went right to work, a deadline fast approaching. Her face looked more pained than his as she dabbed cover stick on his bruises and then blended it in with a sponge. She was afraid to touch him, to break him, unlike Victoria.

"You won't hurt me," he smiled, and that seemed to help the young woman he still saw as a girl. "Hey look, I want to say 'thank you.'"

"It's no big deal, Uncle Billy. I like doing this."

"I like that you still call me that even though you're a married lady. And I'm not still married to…" He stopped before the mood reversed again. "But I mean 'thank you' for helping Victoria out so much the last few days. She told me you've been a big help with the kids. And she doesn't like to admit she needs help, but she does. So, thank you."

"No, she doesn't," Summer agreed with a laugh and then shrugged. "I like being able to help, though. Victoria's always been there for me, and well, Johnny is the most hilarious kid, and Katie's just so sweet. And Aunt Vickie is great to talk to."

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

Summer had moved on to his hair, so she didn't see his smile fade or the galaxy of memories pass across his face. It only lasted a moment, only long enough for her to work the mousse in and arrange each follicle just so. She finished, stepped back proclaiming her work done, just as Jack walked in the room.

"How do I look?" Billy asked, flashing his best Abbott smile.

"Like a man ready to see his children." Jack said, and Billy beamed.

Nothing else mattered right now. Not Dr. Davis-Greene. Not what Victoria had told him. Not even his pain.

* * *

There was relief in not going to the 8th floor, relief that on any other day, under any other set of circumstances would have been pleasant, would have conquered every other emotion.

They were to meet in the solarium on Billy's new floor. It was bright and happy, kid-friendly, very few reminders they were in a hospital. But they were in a hospital, and Johnny's hand clamped onto hers as soon as they stepped on the elevator. She stopped the stroller outside the solarium and knelt to Johnny's level. She helped him pull off his coat and smoothed his hair and smiled reassuringly at him. Everyone was already in there waiting for them. Nicholas and Summer and Jill were in a corner talking. Jack was leaning against a wall separated from the rest, and Billy was on the couch in the clothes she had picked out for him. His bruises only barely showed through the cover-up she'd sent with Summer, and his hair was like on their wedding day. He saw her, caught her eye as she began her slow ascent. He followed her the entire way to standing, and then his eyes traveled back down, down to the little boy at her side. Johnny's hand was tight in hers until it wasn't and he was flying across the room, landing violently in his father's arms. She was silly to have thought he would be scared.

The two clung to each other as everyone else in the room wiped at their eyes, and when they pulled away enough to see the other's face, they wore matching grins so wide Victoria's face hurt. She gave them time alone, time to exchange 'I love you' and 'I missed you' and all those secret little conversations sacred to father and son. And then she went to them, Katie in arms, wide awake, ready to join the party. Billy took her happily in his good arm, and only then did Johnny notice the cast on his right arm, the cuts and bruises that couldn't be completely covered.

"It's like your friend Andrew's cast. Remember when he fell off his bike?" Victoria said She sat on the other side of her son and reached across to touch the hardened plaster, to show him it was nothing to be afraid of.

"But his was bwue," Johnny said and mimicked his mother's action.

"That's right. It was. You know Mommy had one when she was a little girl. I did. I fell off my horse. Only they didn't come in all those cool colors then. But all my friends wrote their names on it. And I put stickers on it. I had this really cool unicorn one."

"Speaking of stickers," Billy said and knocked the cast against his son's chest and the "Kiss Me I'm Irish" sticker. "Where'd you get that?"

That was all it took. They sat there, the four of them and talked. Johnny told him about helping Uncle Dylan at the coffeehouse and showed him the money he'd earned. They found markers in the bottom of Victoria's purse, and while Billy fed their daughter, Johnny showed them what he'd just mastered at pre-school. His tongue pressed between his lips for concentration, he wrote the letter across the top of Billy's cast. The letters were squiggly and spaced far apart, but it was clearly his name, the name on his birth certificate. Billy beamed with pride, and Johnny insisted Victoria write hers as well. She did, in the crook of his arm, with the precision and artistry of a tattoo.

No one else existed for a long time, not until Jill insisted on a picture of the foursome. Victoria complied without a fight, without hesitation. This moment wasn't about doubts and fears, broken promises. It wasn't about persistent attempts at reconciling two people who had moved on. It was about healing and the road to recovery. And for the first time since that night over a week ago, she could actually breathe. It felt like the worst was truly over and the luck of the Irish was finally on her side.

* * *

They walked with Billy back to his room when three of the four succumbed to yawns. Johnny rode on his father's lap in the wheel chair, Katie already fast asleep in her stroller. Summer and Nick took the kids home for her, and after getting Billy settled into his bed and promising those sleepy blue eyes she would be back later, Victoria stepped into the hallway. She wanted to find Dr. Walker, to give him his gift from Katie and Johnny. He had been in surgery yesterday, and frankly she didn't think roses and cosmetics would be as appreciated by him.

She was surprised to find Jack outside the door, leaning against another wall, his hands buried in his jacket pockets, looking tired and defeated. It seemed this tragedy had taken more of a toll on him than the rest of them. Victoria walked up to him and without a word, just hugged him. He let her, but didn't hug back.

"Today went good, don't you think?" She kissed him on the cheek and leaned against the wall next to him. "I was so afraid Johnny was gonna be scared, but no. He went right to Billy, like they'd never been apart."

Jack smiled a pained smiled and closed his eyes and then rubbed at them ,at his whole face. She was starting to worry about him. This had been too much, and he had his own drama at home.

"I've been meaning to talk to you. Chelsea told me you killed her line from Jabot. Thank you for that. For everything involved in…all that."

"I only did what I should have done a long time ago," he said. He was talking to her, had to be. She was the only one there, but his voice sounded distant and his words self-admonishing. He rolled his head back against the wall so that his eyes faced the ceiling. Or heaven. "It's what I should have done when he first showed up. When he showed up at my…"

The words trailed off. They weren't meant for her, but still she knew what came next. She pieced the sentence together and thanked God for the wall holding her up. And then she hated the wall and pushed herself off of it, propelled herself in front of a man who'd helped raise her, a man she respected and loved. It was then she saw it wasn't grief or exhaustion he carried in the slump of his shoulder. It hadn't been grief or exhaustion that first night or any night since. It was guilt.

"When who showed up, Jack?" She asked, already knowing the answer, already kicking herself for thinking the surprises, the drama would ever end. He only seemed to notice her then, really notice her. She could see he thought about lying, pulling himself out of the self-dug hole, but guilt is short-term reality. If not now, soon.

"Adam," he said with all the defeat of a dying breath. And another detour was born.


	14. Chapter 14

Hi, sorry the chapters are coming together as fast as I would like, but I hope the wait is sort of worth it. Thanks villyforever55 and Deana for the kind words. It's good to know you're enjoying it and that there are Villy fans still out there.

happy reading,

rhonda

Balm

Chapter 14

"You knew Adam was alive."

It wasn't a question or an accusation, just truth that settled between them like fog, a harsh whisper caged in the narrow channel of space that separated them. Jack didn't deny it, didn't deny her what she'd already pieced together. And though he seemed terrified of the truth, there was relief, too, his red-tinged eyes pleading with her for understanding or absolution. She was prepared to grant him neither. "How long, Jack? How long have you known?"

"Not…long. A couple of months, but—"

"A couple of months?" she scoffed. "A couple of months? For a 'couple of months' you knew that the man responsible for killing your niece was alive? Is that right? You stood in a church, Jack, in front of God and your family and became Katie's godfather, all while knowing the man who killed her big sister was walking around free? The man who tortured her father for months after Delia died? The man who put him in that hospital bed? Were you part of the plan, Jack? Did you help my brother put Billy here?"

"No, Victoria," he growled and grabbed her by the shoulders. It startled her even though it was the reaction she was looking for, family loyalty finally overpowering the guilt and shame. But his grip loosened almost immediately when the door to Billy's room opened and the nurse who'd stayed to settle him back in bed exited apologetically. Through the crack, Victoria saw him, not asleep as she assumed, but studying the screen of the contraband phone she'd given him, no doubt looking at the newest pictures of the kids. Every emotion she'd felt about him in the last few days and months, love, hate, pity, all dissipated, and the only thing left was an overwhelming need to protect him.

"You know I would never hurt my brother," Jack said softly when the nurse was gone and the door sighed shut again.

"You've taken Adam's side before."

She broke free of his loose grip and walked away, away from Billy's room, away from the minute possibility he would overhear. Jack followed like a puppy on a leash, but wisely chose the opposite side of the hallway when they stopped.

"I didn't take Adam's side in this, Victoria. I wish to God everyday that Gabriel Bingham had never shown up at my door. When he claimed to be Adam, I, I thought he was a nutjob or a sadistic conman. But he knew things. Things about me and my family. Things about Billy. He knew Billy shot Adam the night of the accident. Had the scar to prove it. He threatened to send Billy to jail, Victoria. And after everything my brother has been through…he had a new child, he had Johnny, he had a chance to build a new life. Adam just wanted Chelsea and Conner back. I never thought—"

"That it would cost Billy his life?" she snapped.

"You don't think I regret it?"

"You regret it? You regret it, Jack? Billy almost died. Do you remember that? Do you remember sitting by his bedside scared to death you would never get to see him again? Imagine if he had died, Jack. Imagine your regret then."

She was nearly yelling and thankful for the distance she'd put between them and Billy. Anger and frustration pooled in her fingertips, and the threat of tears stung her eyes. She wouldn't give in to them, though. She paced, back and forth, back and forth, to stave them off while Jack stood calmly against the wall, his lip no longer quivering with shame, his shoulder no longer slumped with guilt. He was the man she recognized again, the head of a family in crisis, and for the first time since she'd known him, that made her feel small and afraid.

"You're right, Victoria. My regret is counter-productive now. It's useless. But so is imagining the worst. He made it. He survived. Against all the odds, my brother pulled through and he gets a second chance. And I, _I_ get a second chance, too. I put other things, other people above family, but I have the chance now to go to him, to admit my mistakes, to apologize and to vow that going forward, I will be the brother he deserves."

"No," Victoria said without emotion as her eyes rose from the cold tile floor to his sincere face. "You're not going to tell him you knew Adam was alive. You're not going to tell anyone."

His eyes narrowed in genuine confusion as his mouth hung open until he found the careful words he needed. "It's not that simple, Victoria. There's more to the story. More that you need to know as well."

"No. No, no, no, no, no. I don't want to hear anymore, Jack. No more details, no more excuses. And that goes for Billy, too. He's been through enough. He can't take it. And if clearing your conscience is the only reason you have for telling him, then…I'm sorry, but that's just not good enough."

She was gone before he had a chance to argue, leaving him alone in the hallway, defeated and resigned. And though she'd won, she couldn't help but feel the same.

* * *

Kevin hid until the nurse was gone and Victoria and Jack had rounded the corner. The patient appeared to be sleeping, but at the almost imperceptible squeak of the door, Billy's head rolled across the pillow to face his visitor. The visitor was greeted with hope that immediately subsided not into absolute disappointment, but sober surprise. He was not expected, and though Kevin had heard the stories, the descriptions of bruises and scars and broken bones, Billy's appearance, too, was not expected. He stood fixed in the open doorway, trying not to stare, his nervous hand crinkling the paper bag half-hidden by his coat sleeve.

"You just gonna stand there?" Billy asked with a crooked almost grin. He'd gotten used to the first-visit stares in the past week or so and the darting of eyes, and he'd quickly discovered that he, the patient, was responsible for breaking the ice. And the sooner he did it, the easier it was for everyone.

"Sorry," Kevin said sheepishly and relinquished the door before tossing the paper bag into the bend of the bed. "Didn't figure the food was so great, so I brought you a sandwich. With spicy mustard."

"Thanks, man." Both men smiled at the memory, not the circumstances surrounding their forced alliance, but the fact that it existed, that when Delia was sick and Billy was hiding from everyone he loved, Kevin had helped him. Because he loved them, too. Victoria said he'd put himself on the line for Billy again with the Adam thing, and with a quick look of gratitude and acknowledgement, he knew the reason was the same this time.

Billy sat up and unwrapped the offering with one hand, more out of need to ease the heaviness than hunger. He took two bites in a row and reached for the bottle of water on the bedside table. It was out of reach, so Kevin grabbed it and handed it to him, but with just one fully functioning hand, unscrewing the lid was almost impossible. Kevin only watched him struggle for a few seconds before opening it and sitting it within reach.

"I was gonna come sooner," he said, sitting quickly before any embarrassment on Billy's part could set in. "But I, uh, I had to go out of town."

"Oh, yeah?" Billy's mouth was full of bread, but he was anxious to dive into conversation and away from his own situation. So far, the visit was one clumsy emotional stumble after another, and he needed a good tale of vacations and paradise. "Where'd you go? Anywhere good?"

"I went to see Chloe."

He would have choked if he could swallow. Chewing ceased, and the room became painfully silent as Billy remembered, tried to remember the last time he'd even sent a text to her. It'd been months, so many months.

"How is she?" he asked when the lump finally eased down his throat. Even then he realized he might as well have asked how Humpty Dumpty was doing. The answer was the same. Broken. Forever broken.

But Kevin smiled and nodded his head. "Better. She's doing better than she has in months. Her doctors agree."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she's doing better now that she's not pregnant."

"Wait. What? Chloe had another kid? Congratulations, man. I mean it's…"

"No, Billy," he said with a mix of regret and apology. And then he took a deep and steady breath before repeating everything he'd learned in the last forty-eight hours.

He told him how Chloe had shown up at the treatment center with Billy's sample in her purse. It was unused and unusable, but still she claimed she was pregnant. She wasn't. Test after test confirmed it, but still she was adamant that she was expecting and would soon have Delia in her arms again. She even made a fake belly that she wore until a few weeks after the anniversary of the accident. That made the loss real to her. She was finally ready to heal.

"She started going to her therapy sessions regularly," he continued. "They helped her. She's doing good now, Billy. She looks good. And she sounds almost like her old self. She's even talking about going back to New York when she's ready. Or L.A. to study fashion seriously."

He heard all the words and understood their meaning, but still it felt like a story Kevin was telling him. Made up. About someone he didn't know. Only it had happened before. Billy remembered Ashley's hysterical pregnancy, how she had wanted the child so much her body let her mind believe it. It wasn't so crazy. Or unbelievable. He also remembered how once the truth came out that Faith was Nick and Sharon's child, the loss was even more painful for his sister. He knew that pain now. So did Chloe. And Victoria. And the man sitting beside him.

"I should have called her more. Shoulda checked up on her."

"Hey, no. I was her husband," Kevin said softly. "And no amount of phone calls or emails or texts would have helped her then. She had to be ready, Billy. Ready to let the doctors help her."

He thought of his own doctor, the one with two last names who read him like a book a few hours ago, the one whose eyes seemed to recognize him, though they only just met. Was he like Chloe? Did he need help? And was he ready to accept it? The doubts and questions whispered around him like bees, teasing him, nagging him, relentless, suffocating. He couldn't swat them. That would acknowledge their existence.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Kevin said, rescuing Billy from his thoughts. Only then did he realize how much time had passed in silence, how much silent time Kevin had given him to think. It seemed intentional. But now the other man was ready for a confession of his own. His face was genuine and apologetic. "I…really thought Chelsea had changed. I thought she was my friend. I thought she was Chloe's friend. But I guess people never really change."

"I don't know about that," Billy smiled and then ducked his head. "Chipmunks might."

"And rich kids," Kevin added with a nod, and they both laughed easily.

"Lucky bastards," Billy corrected. "Who have families that don't give up on them." The laughter subsided under the weight of their existences, separate and shared, but the load was quickly lightened by a loving spirit that was ever-present. "I never told you this," Billy started and then stopped for just a minute, to breathe, to control the quiver of his lip, to muster courage. "But um, you were really good to my kid. Thank you for that. Delia was lucky to have you as a dad."

Kevin couldn't control his lip or the tears that marked his face. He just wiped at them as they came. "I was the lucky one."

"We all were."

* * *

Victoria wandered down the corridors on autopilot, following the tile border whichever way it led, veering from it only to avoid oncoming traffic in the form of busy nurses with clipboards and patients rolling their IV bags at a snail's pace. She couldn't go home. Not yet. Nicholas would sense something was wrong, and the kids would be robbed of her full attention.

Eventually, she found herself outside the solarium for the second time today. By accident this time. She collapsed on the couch where they had just been, her and Billy, their kids, where they'd laughed and talked, written on Billy's cast, been a family. A family the only way they could be now. If only she could go back to that moment, the one where Johnny yawned and then Billy mimicked him, his energy almost gone, she would take the kids home herself and avoid the run-in with Jack. But if she could time travel, would she stop there?

She jumped up from the couch almost as soon as she sat down, like it was on fire. It was just too comfortable, too comforting and too full of stirring memories. The frosty windows were better, their oversized panes framing the winter landscape, the snow-covered city rooftops and the patchwork neighborhoods beyond them. And even farther beyond, miles and miles of white. Somewhere past the miles of white was the house Billy had been held in. And the spot where he'd almost died in a fiery crash a year ago. And the road where they'd lost Delia. Snow could hide a multitude of sins and memories. It could transform reality into a cold, dreamy otherworld where everything seemed clean and bright and unbothered. But underneath the snow, the grass waited for spring. Plants would soon sprout again, flower, scent the earth with a sweetness winter had made you forget, pulling back the numbing scars of hibernation, rekindling things the snow had hidden, things you knew were there though you couldn't see them. Or wouldn't.

"Victoria."

She spun around breathless and found a man who looked almost like Dr. Walker standing in the doorway. But he didn't have on the white coat or the stethoscope, the name tag or the grave countenance she was used to. He was casual, wearing jeans and a button-up rolled to his elbows, a tweed blazer loosely gripped in his hand. He seemed taller without the lab coat. And human.

"They said you were looking for me," he said slowly as he tried to read the paleness of her face. "The nurses did. Are you okay? I-I mean is Billy okay?"

He blushed when he realized he'd asked about her instead of his patient, but it was just the dose of reality Victoria needed. "Yes," she breathed, and the release forced a smile and a shiver that convinced her to move away from the window. "Billy's fine. He's resting. The kids wore him out."

"Good. Good. So the visit was good?"

"Mmmhmm. It did them all good, I think."

"Good," he said again, and Victoria hid her chuckle at his awkwardness. "It's just…They said you were looking for me, so I thought…and since I actually needed to see y—"

"No, everything's fine. It's good. I was looking for you because I wanted to give you this." She dug a bright blue envelope from her purse and handed it to him. He accepted it like it might be poisonous. "I wanted to give it to you yesterday when Billy moved out of the ICU. And then today with the kids, but you were…"

"In surgery," they finished together.

"What is it?"

"Open it," she smiled. "It's just a little thank you from the kids."

She watched him open the envelope with the care and precision of a surgeon before pulling out the card she had helped Johnny make. Their faces were on the front, Johnny's and Katie's, a rare perfect picture of the two of them on the couch. They both wore blue like their eyes, and Katie was propped up against her brother who held a homemade sign that read 'Thank you for helping our Daddy." Johnny's grin covered his whole face, and Katherine's usually serious one had the gentle hint of a smile. Victoria hadn't known what to get the stoic doctor, how to thank him for saving Billy's life. Roses and moisturizer hadn't seemed appropriate, but judging by the tender way he held the card and how long he stared at it, this simple, genuine gesture was enough.

"Tell them 'thank you' for me?" he said quietly when he finally slipped the card safely back into its envelope. She nodded she would and started to offer her own thanks again when a familiar commotion approached the solarium and Dr. Walker offered a sudden, apologetic warning. "I was looking for you earlier, too. We need to discuss Billy."

She assumed incorrectly 'we' meant the two of them, but the full 'we' rounded the corner already in conversation, Ashley and Traci and Jill and Jack, all summoned by the man in front of her. Jack tried to make eye contact, but Victoria retreated without a look, back to the cold windows, her back to the miles of snow. Only then did she hazard a look in his direction. His eyes were full of apology, but his face was fixed in consternation. Had he already told the others, she wondered?

"Billy's progressing well," Dr. Walker announced when they'd all settled. He was in full doctor mode again, full of confidence even without the white coat. "His injuries, his bruises and broken bones are healing. And his internal injuries are improving, as well. If this continues, we'll be discussing his release soon. But before that can happen, there needs to be a plan in place for his post-hospital recovery."

"How soon is soon, doctor?" Ashley asked.

"Best case scenario a week."

The room erupted into a series of released breaths and joyous laughs at the news. Even Victoria, in her separate space, smiled despite the unexplainable sting of loss she felt in the same corner of her heart.

"He won't need round-the-clock professional care," the doctor continued when the celebration subsided, "but he will need care. He'll need help getting around and taking care of himself, getting dressed, getting to and from places. He can't be left alone, not until the head injury heals more. Now I understand he's not with anyone." His eyes and everyone else's went to Victoria out of habit. Or hope. But Dr. Walker scanned the rest of the group, too. "Where will he be staying?"

Jack came forward. As usual. The speaker of the group, the head of the family. Only Victoria knew he was acting on something else. "He'll come home with me, doctor. He'll have the best care possible."

"No." All eyes turned to Victoria again. They seemed startled as much by her protest as the cold sternness in her voice. She tried to cover with a fake smile and casually ran her hands through her hair. "I just don't think that's a good idea. I mean, Jack has a full house now, and with Phyllis there. The Kelly drama. It's just not the best place for him to heal."

"Then he'll stay with me. At Katherine's," Jill said, placing her hands on her hips to signal the issue had been settled.

"No," Victoria said again, but her protest was softer the second time. And sadder. "That's where Delia lived, Jill. I don't think he could take it."

"Well, are you proposing he stay with you then?" Jill asked her.

"No," Victoria protested for the third time. "That's-that's not a good idea either. It would be confusing for the kids. And for him. We aren't together. And, and, and…"

"Then what do you suggest, Victoria? That we get him a room at the club?" Jill's frustration had clearly reached a new level, and as she surveyed the rest of the room, Victoria had the sense they too were frustrated and confused and waiting for her to offer the solution.

"No, I don't think he should stay at the club," she sighed and abandoned the safety of the wall. "Look, we all know Billy. We know how hard this is for him. And we know how he behaves when things are hard for him. If he stays with his brother or his mother, it's just going to be a reminder of all the things that have gone wrong in his life. And he'll end up doing something stupid. He-he needs to feel in control. He needs to be reminded of a time when he had his life together. When he was doing his own thing, making his own decisions. Where instead of feeling like a burden to one person, everyone can take turns staying with him."

"Does that include you?" Jill asked bluntly, but Victoria ignored her as Ashley came to her rescue.

"Vicky, honey, that sounds nice in theory, but there isn't a place like that."

"Yes, there is. There's one. There's one place like that," Victoria said and one by one, the rest of the room, save for a curious doctor, realized what she was suggesting.

* * *

It was 4:07 when the nurse wheeled Billy to the 6th floor and knocked on the open door that was labeled with a hyphenated last name. A familiar face looked up from behind a simple writing desk and studied her visitor for an immeasurable amount of time before greeting him with the same warm, welcoming smile she had greeted him with during their first meeting. Dr. Davis-Greene didn't seem surprised to see him. Or victorious. But Billy was convinced there was a certain satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. Or maybe he was simply projecting what felt like defeat to him.

It had seemed like a good idea, the only sensible course of action, following Kevin's visit and the news about Chloe, but now, as Billy scanned these new confines, he was having serious second thoughts. There was no cliché couch in her office, just two oversized chairs gathered in a quiet corner, separated by a small round side table that hosted a tropical potted plant. The walls were a forgettable shade of grey that was almost white, but the color barely mattered. Every open space was covered with framed prints, photographs of sand and water and sky that were probably supposed to make the office seem more like paradise than a living hell.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Abbot," the doctor said once the nurse was gone and they were alone. She offered to help Billy into one of the chairs, but he waved her off. He wasn't staying long. At least he hoped not. With her offer declined and no sign of a verbal response on the horizon, Dr. Davis-Greene continued to chip away. "How was your visit with your children?"

"It was great. It's always great seeing them," he said and couldn't help but smile as he recalled the moment he saw Johnny and the immediate forgiveness he received from the little boy.

"I can see how proud you are of them."

"Mmmhmm," Billy offered with a tight lip as he picked away at the loose plaster on the end of his cast.

"What's your relationship like with them, Billy?"

"They're my kids. It's good. It's fine."

"Is it the same as your relationship with your parents?"

"No," he scoffed and then realizing he'd given more than he should, he quickly sobered his reaction.

"How so? Is your relationship with them not a good one?"

"My dad's dead, and my mom's…she's my mom."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said as she made a note on the blank pages balanced atop her crossed legs. He couldn't see what she wrote, didn't want to. He focused on the walls instead, his eyes taking in the varying shades of blue until blue was all he could see. "But what does that mean, Billy? Your 'mom is your mom'?"

"She's my mom. She's a mom. That's it."

"Do you think all moms are the same? For instance, is your mom the same as your children's mom?"

"Victoria's different," he mumbled.

"I see. So let's talk about Victoria. What's your relationship like with her?"

"No," he said with simmering anger. "We're not talking about Victoria."

The doctor shifted in her seat, crossed her legs the other way and made another note. "Why are you here, Billy?" she finally asked over the top of her glasses.

"You said I had to. To get out of here."

"Fair enough. But now that you're here, now that you've committed to showing up, what do you expect to get out of this?"

"I don't expect to get anything out of this." His tone was dismissive, but his words honest.

"Have you been in therapy before?" When he didn't answer, she leaned forward like they were planning a secret attack. "I'll tell you a secret, Billy. I already know the answer. You went to group therapy after your oldest daughter passed away."

"Yeah, and it didn't work out so well," he nearly spat. The room was getting smaller and warmer and his pain more intense. This woman probably had a dossier on him, knew every crummy thing he'd ever done, every failure, and now she wanted him to sit there and repeat them to her, tell her how it made him feel to be a screw-up.

"It doesn't always, Mr. Abbott." The honesty of her response surprised him, and she surprised him again by closing her notebook and placing it on the little round table. "This visit, the first visit, is just an interview. To see if we're compatible. We may not be. This may not work for you. Like your experience with group therapy. And if not? That's okay. It's not the end of the world, and it won't be the end of your therapy. I have dozens of first-class colleagues I can recommend. But you have to be ready to put in the work Are you ready?"

"I bought a baby once," he said with a shrug after several minutes of a silent stand-off. "Paid two million dollars."

The woman across from him burst into laughter, not just a chuckle, but a full belly laugh. Billy stared at her like she was crazy and wondered how far he could get if he made a run for it.

"You're trying to shock me." She wiped at her watering eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. Then she leveled her eyes on him, those eyes that bore through him. "You can't shock me, Billy. I've been doing this for over thirty years. I've seen women who've sold their children for a fix. Does that shock you? Because the why is always more shocking. The why is why you're here. Why did you buy a baby? Why did you pay more money than most people see in a lifetime for a human being? Is it because you're a bad person? Or because you were faced with a situation and feelings that you simply weren't equipped to handle any other way?"

He sought the water again. He could smell it and feel it, but still he remembered that Christmas, their first Christmas together. He remembered how Victoria wanted so much to be pregnant, to give him another child, and how all he wanted was the same. The irony was never lost on him. He'd been trapped into fatherhood, spent years avoiding the responsibility, and now this thing that had seemed so easy to come by was out of his hands. No one had ever depended on him for happiness, and they had loved that baby so much.

"You like the water?" he heard through the waves in his head.

"Spent some time on the water."

"Look at me," she demanded, and he did. His skin prickled with old wounds and feelings, and she seemed to know that, seemed to feel them along with him. "Healing is hard work, Billy and you've got a lot of wounds. But you want to heal. That's why you're here, even if you don't know it, but there's a part of you that doesn't want to heal. A part that's comfortable in the brokenness, that likes the pain. But you have to stop fighting yourself so you can finally heal. I won't lie to you. It won't be easy. You'll have to go to some dark places. You'll have to live in the pain, acknowledge the hurt. But I will never abandon you. If you commit to doing the work, I will be here through the entire process. That is what I can offer you."

She stood abruptly and walked to her desk to page his nurse. "I'll give you a few days to think about what you want. For yourself. For your future. For your children. Okay?"

He was numb and scared and most of all, scared to hope. But for the first time maybe in his whole life, he recognized fully that he was broken. Not just from the accident. Not just from Delia's death. And this woman standing in front of him was promising, not another second chance, but a real chance.

* * *

It was later than usual when Victoria made her way back to Billy's room, past the visiting hours that didn't apply to her. She'd wanted to spend as much time as possible with the kids and she'd also wanted to avoid Jack and everyone else. But maybe she'd waited too long because he seemed surprised when she rapped against his door.

"Hey," he said from the shadows, "I wasn't sure you were gonna make it."

"I promised, didn't I? I just…got caught up with stuff at home."

"Oh," he mouthed more than said and turned his eyes to his lap to hide the twinge of jealously.

Again she could have told him about her breakup with Ben, but again she didn't. She wasn't looking for heavy conversation tonight, and thankfully his relaxed demeanor told her he was still in the dark about Jack and Adam. So instead, she took out the little jar of balm and dipped her finger into the well she'd made over the course of a week. The bottom was visible now, and she made a mental note to get more from the lab on Monday.

"Hey," he said again when she touched the cool cream to the first wound on his hand. He didn't seem to notice that her finger made a quick detour to the untouched part of his tattoo. "Did I thank you? For today?"

"You don't have to thank me for that, Billy. You needed to see them, and they needed to see you. Especially Johnny."

"It was a good day," he smiled, and she couldn't help but return it as she made a second detour before moving on to the rope burns on his wrist.

"I can bring them back tomorrow if you're up for it? Bring lunch or something."

"That'd be amazing, Vick."

She nodded confirmation of the plan and continued with her work, so focused on just doing and not thinking that she didn't notice Billy's intense stare, how as she studied his wounds and took notice of their healing, he was staring at her, taking note of the tension in her face and the tired sigh that fell from her lips. The closer she moved to his face, the more he could tell something was wrong.

"Hey. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," she lied and blushed when she realized he'd been staring. He continued to stare as she touched the balm to his face and two weeks worth of stubble tickled her fingertips. "It's nothing. How was therapy?"

She was deflecting, something he knew well and practiced often, and whatever she was hiding had to be big for her to mention therapy. He heard how the word caught in her throat, knew the reason, and the memories it conjured. He could let it go, let them both off the hook tonight, but tonight he didn't want to do that. He placed his hand gently on top of hers, holding her finger hostage until she looked at him.

"I'm the liar, remember? Something's going on, Vick. What is it?"

Your brother betrayed you, she said to herself, and still she feared he could read her mind. Maybe she should just tell him, throw all of the truth onto the floor and help him navigate his way through it. But who would help her? And how would his brother's betrayal help him heal? And whose truths would they be?

"It's nothing," she lied again, but added a confessional sigh afterward. "It's just…Dr. Walker met with us earlier to discuss your home care, and I just – Look, I know how you feel about other people making decisions for you. You hate it, and I hated it that we did it. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away."

"Who's "us?" he asked calmly as he released her hand.

"Me. Your mother. Your sisters. And your brother."

"Okay."

It was all he said, and his lack of protest or interest surprised her especially since Ashley had texted her to say they hadn't told him the plan. He seemed subdued tonight, though. Or Zen. Contemplative. Or maybe he was just worn out because he closed his eyes as she finished applying balm to the rest of the cuts on his face. He was usually asleep by the time she finished, but not tonight, and they both seemed to realize at once that she had one cut left, the one not so easily reached now that he was out of the hospital gown and still wearing the knit pants she'd sent for him.

Billy opened his eyes to see her questioning if she should just forget the wound on his thigh tonight. He took the lead, though, pulled back the covers just enough so he could stretch the waistband of his pants as far as he could. The wound was exposed, and Victoria quickly applied the balm. His leg tensed beneath her touch, the same way it did when he was sleeping and she wondered if she was hurting him.

"So what did you all decide?" he said, breaking the silence. He didn't want to discuss leaving the hospital. It meant no more Victoria, but he needed a distraction from her warm hand on his leg. "Am I staying with Jack or Mom?"

"Neither," she answered as she slipped the covers back to his waist. He watched with a puzzled look on his face as she put away the jar and rubbed what was left of the balm into her own skin.

"So where am I going?" he chuckled. "The club?"

"No," she smiled and took a deep breath. She wasn't sure why she was nervous to tell him, but she was. Would he understand the why of it or would he think no one wanted him. Would he not want to go there and leave them at square one area?

"Vick?" he whispered, and she saw a glimpse of him, her Billy, lying in bed at night, in the dark, discussing their fears like they used to do early on. "It's okay. Whatever you decided."

"The trailer. You're going to stay in the trailer."

With two words, the sterile hospital room was filled memories of scarves and boxer shorts, chicken hawks and broken doorknobs, a shower, a hot summer, dizzying life-giving love. And a whole lot of questions.


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry for the delay! Super busy. Super struggling for inspiration. I need to binge of the vintage I think. :)

Thanks for the kind words and encouragement. Always appreciated. Always nice to read.

Happy reading,  
Rhonda

Balm

Chapter 15

A week. One week. It isn't very long in the span of a lifetime. Or even a year. It isn't very long at all unless you're five years old waiting for Christmas.

It's a blur of days, a rush of minutes, a Sunday picnic in the hospital cafeteria that bleeds into a Monday morning meeting, one of two dozen meetings throughout the course of the work week, five long days at the office, three without lunch in order to cut out early in time to take a toddler and a newborn to visit their father before their sacred routine of dinner and baths, snuggles and goodnight kisses that precedes a return to the hospital and another sacred routine, where in dwindling moments of intimacy, time seems to stop for a few hours and the true power of a week reveals itself in fading scars that have all but disappeared. Only the most severe still mark his skin with tragedy, making each visit less and less necessary, a fact neither participant mentions or wants to. And in a week, the things no one can see with the naked eye, muscle and bone and tissue, they, too, mend and fuse enough for the white-coated man in front of her to confirm the possibility that had loomed in her subconscious for the last seven days.

"Billy's being released today."

A week is not enough time to prepare for those words, to figure out what they mean. Or how they make her feel.

"With a few conditions," Dr. Walker continued, and that was enough to sober Jack and Jill's celebration and draw them all to a quieter corner of the waiting room. To them, to his family, Billy's release was a concrete sign that he was going to be okay, that he had overcome the worst and was on the road back to normalcy, whatever the hell that was. It was the same for Victoria, too. But as Dr. Walker repeated the list of restrictions he'd already given them once days before, she couldn't ignore the sudden and overwhelming sense of loss that clouded her relief. This moment, this was an end, a death of something she couldn't or wouldn't name. Her service had run its course. She was free, and freedom clung in her chest like a frightened child to its mother.

"He's to have someone with him at all times for the next six weeks. Remember, he still has a brain injury, and those do not heal overnight. He'll need help with almost every part of daily life. From dressing himself to preparing meals. Getting to and from appointments. Can you all guarantee that?"

"Yes, Doctor," two of the three said in unison, but Dr. Walker's eyes were stubbornly fixed on Victoria and soon all eyes in the room were, too, forcing her to nod in agreement. She wanted to voice what she was trying to process. That she was done, that this conversation marked the end of the accident nightmare for her. But a passive, cowardly nod was all she managed.

"Ok," Dr. Walker nodded in return. "I'll get the paperwork started."

The waiting room felt smaller the instant he left. Jill closed in on Victoria, blocking her own desperate escape, and the sheer force of the woman dragged Jack along with her. His eyes avoided Victoria's as they had throughout the week, out of shame still or clumsy respect. Or both. He'd kept quiet about his role in Adam's return as far as she knew, and for that one small thing she was grateful to him.

"So, I guess we should discuss the schedule, who's staying with Billy when?" Jill said and clasped her hands together in front of her, ready to get down to business, but barely containing her motherly joy over the prospect of her son being released. "I'll take day shifts. As many as I can. And Victoria, I assume you'll want to continue with night shifts?"

"Yeah," she answered absently, her brain too muddled with thoughts of getting out of there and whether or not she should say goodbye to Billy to realize what she'd agreed to until her head snapped up to find a huge, victorious smile across her former mother-in-law-s face and surprised confusion on Jack's. "Wait. What? I mean, no. No, I can't stay with Billy. He's going home, so I'm…I'm…"

"You're what, Victoria?" Jill's smile faded, and her hands formed fists that went accusingly to her hips. "You heard the doctor. Someone has to be with Billy at all times, and between you, me, Jack and the rest of the Abbotts, we have to figure out a schedule. And we have to do it now."

"Yeah, but, Jill…I…the trailer…"

"Was your idea, Missy."

"I have the kids. And work and I just..."

"That's why the night shift is perfect for you, don't you see? You can go to work in the morning, put the kids to bed at night, and then go stay with Billy. Just like you did here. I'm sure my beautiful, perfect grandchildren will be glad to spare you a few nights a week for their father."

She wasn't even ashamed of using Katie and Johnny to get her way. In fact, she was rather amused by the whole thing, and the worst part was Victoria couldn't argue the facts. She looked to Jack for an out, for him to swoop in and tell them both that the Abbotts would see their brother through his recovery. But his eyes offered no mercy, just pleading of his own, asking her to do this, not for him, but for Billy. He was still under the impression that she could heal him, that she could mend his bones and his soul with the love he assumed was still there.

"I can stay with him tonight," Jack offered softly.

"And I'll relieve you around noon?" Jill piped in.

Jack closed his eyes briefly to confirm the plan, and then they both predictably turned to Victoria.

"Fine," she surrendered. "I'll be at the trailer tomorrow night. But only after the kids are asleep."

She didn't stay for Jill's celebratory hand clap or Jack's mumbled thanks, but headed straight for the mercifully empty elevator where she leaned against its sturdy, suspended wall to catch her breath. A week can be uneventful, a string of ordinary events, and then a single moment change everything. Freedom had only lasted a few stifling minutes, and being rid of it was as refreshing as the last days of winter, as unsettling as the stirring of spring.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Jack asked as he watched Victoria storm away. "The trailer?"

"Are you kidding? I almost wish I had thought of it." Jill, too, watched her former daughter-in-law disappear into the elevator, but without the concern of her companion. "A couple of nights trapped in that sardine can? Those two will be back together in no time. It's perfect."

"Or it's a disaster waiting to happen."

* * *

"So, you're going home today?"

It was the second time in less than an hour someone had uttered those words in his presence. Dr. Walker had said them first. After a series of questions. After a thorough examination. After he'd chased a tiny beam of light around the room with his eyes. Now, just as he had done then, Billy didn't correct the concerned, well-meaning doctor seated neatly at his bedside. He told neither of them that home was a memory he's lost his rights to, that home had blue walls and a backyard, not wood paneling and a hitch.

"How does that make you feel?" Dr. Davis-Greene continued.

He should have anticipated the question. It was her go-to since their last meeting three days ago when Billy begrudgingly agreed to continue therapy only to be bombarded with a series of questions about the accident, all of which he answered in noncommittal monosyllables. Fine. Sure. Nah.

But he hadn't anticipated the question now or her visit, and he had no answer prepared. He cleared his throat with a nervous laugh and studied the ever-growing artwork on his cast to buy himself some time. What did she want him to say? What was the answer that would end the interrogation and get him out of here? Not the truth. Not that he had begged for this day since he first woke up, but now he wasn't so sure. He was being released. From the hospital. From captivity. From Victoria no doubt. He couldn't mention that. Or that last week had passed too fast, and that somewhere around Wednesday, he stopped looking forward to her nightly visits, stopped looking at his whiskered face in the mirror and the nearly invisible cuts. That last night, when her fingertips caressed his wounds for what was probably the last time, it had hurt. That he harbored resentment towards the coconut-scented cream for healing him too fast. That he feared what happened next so much he hadn't even asked her where or when he would see his children next.

"There's no right or wrong answer, Billy," Dr. Davis-Greene said quietly after an eternity of seconds. She smiled and leaned forward like she had a secret to tell him. "You've been through a lot. It's understandable if your emotions are all sort of tangled together."

"Then why do you keep asking me?" he grinned.

She was unaffected by the Abbott charm. "Because that's how we untangle them. And it's hard work. I told you that in the beginning."

"Fine. I feel…good about leaving here. Who wouldn't be? The food sucks. The beeping will drive you nuts, no offense. And just between us, not everybody can pull off the open-back gown like I can. I mean, have you seen Mr. Rosenbaum next door?"

"All valid points, Billy. But that wasn't the question." She leaned back in her chair, no secret left to tell, and lifted the cranberry layers of her skirt as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs leisurely while her patient studied the ink trails on his cast for another answer, a better answer, the one that would make her leave. She let him squirm for a few minutes before reaching into her bag and pulling out a book bound in soft leather. "That's not why I stopped by anyway. Here."

She placed the book on the bed, beside his leg, within reach if he tried hard enough. And he did, picked it up, turned it over in his hands, flipped through the pages the doctor could easily picture in her head.

"You should take it back," Billy said and let it drop in exactly the same spot he had retrieved it from. "They forgot the words."

"It's a journal, Billy. And before you say you're not the journaling type…you were going to say that, weren't you? Hear me out? Please?"

His eyes went back to the cast, to the wrinkled bend and one neatly printed word she couldn't make out entirely, but could offer a decent guess if pressed. She took his lack of protest as permission or surrender and proceeded as if she had his full attention.

"Today is big. Bigger than you think, Billy. So far, you've had little choice in what happens. A doctor says you need a test, you have a test. People come, people go. You can't let them in or show them out. Other people make those decisions. I even suspect you've had little input in where you're going when you leave here?"

His body language, the slight tensing of his muscles told her she was correct, but still he focused on the cast.

"That changes today. In some ways. In other ways, not so much. Dr. Walker tells me your family members will be taking turns staying with you. Helping you."

"That's what I hear," he mumbled.

"These are people you love. People who love you. People you have history with, good and bad. They're taking time, more time, out of their schedules, their lives, to take care of you. To make sure you have everything you need to recover."

"And how does that make me feel?" he interrupted, finally shooting a cold, irritated glare in her direction.

"No," she replied simply. "How does that make them feel?"

It wasn't really a pain, the sensation in his chest. It was more like having the wind knocked out of you again and again and again. She'd played an ace when he thought she only carried low cards. He started to play his hidden one, the self-deprecating, 'I'm the family screw-up' card, but he didn't get the chance. She smiled, understandingly, and stood, reaching out to pick up the journal from his bed.

"I want you to do two things in the next few days. First, I want you to write in this. You're not ready to talk? Okay. Then write. Write about what hurts you, what doesn't. What scares you, what breaks your heart and makes you smile. I won't read it unless you want me to, but come prepared to share one sentence at our next session. One truth."

He didn't agree or disagree, but when she extended the journal directly to him, he took it. It was heavy and light at the same time. Like him, he thought.

"And the second thing?" he managed when it seemed she was letting him off the hook, her things collected, her feet pointed towards the door.

"Second," she said, and thrust her head powerfully high, "as you begin this next part of your journey, Billy, I want you to remember that you were not the only one hurt by all of this. Think about that when you start feeling sorry for yourself."

Her words were cryptic, almost a puzzle, and they were drowned out immediately when his mother and brother and sisters flooded his room with cheers and balloons. He was going home today. Whatever that meant.

* * *

It was surreal waking up in the trailer. Even more surreal than standing outside of it the night before had been, frozen on the precipice of the familiar while Jack battled the lock for entry. Jill had Esther spend a week preparing for his return, cleaning, fluffing, filling the cabinets and fridge with more food than he could eat, but other than those few changes, it really was the trailer that time forgot. Morning did not change that reality. Its brilliant, cold sunlight made it easy to believe the past was the present and that rolling over would bring him closer to a dark-haired woman coming to terms with the end of night, too, her warm body melding with his. Or maybe she was in the kitchen, searching for coffee and sustenance or for hastily discarded clothing in the couch cushions or the bathroom or the hallway so she could slip out before he convinced her to stay longer. Maybe he would call her on his way to the office, pretend to be upset she left without a goodbye kiss and coerce her into meeting him later. For lunch maybe. Or even later. After he dropped Delia off with Chloe and she dropped Reed off with J.T. For a replay of last night, he would add, and in the silence that followed, he would hear her smile and bite her lip.

But trying to roll over only brought pain, an ache in his bones and muscles that sank into his heart as the beautiful past faded like night in the cold sunshine. He was finally free of the beeping machines and the cords that tethered him to the hospital, but still he was trapped, like a turtle on its back, rocking back and forth against a pillow stuffed beneath his plastered arm. And he was alone. There was no nurse to call. No doctor. No sleeping relative to help him up. No dark-haired woman whose hand fit perfectly in his. They were gone. All gone.

Panic and grief and regret combined in his throat, threatened to spill from his eyes and scream from his body until Jack filled the doorway, slightly breathless, his dress-shirt wrinkled from a night on the couch, but his hair perfectly in place. He had come to save him, once again. To pull him from bed, to help him to the bathroom, where he stood guard in a scenario slightly less embarrassing than a bedpan, and then to the walker sent home from the hospital with him. The walker was part of his conditioned release, and though he hated it, there was a sense of independence gained when his weight transferred from his brother to the metal frame.

"Breakfast?" Jack asked with a pat on his back. And as though he had said 'abracadabra,' the screen door squeaked open and a flurry of Abbotts entered with bags of food and boxes of pastries.

"Welcome home, Billy," Traci said with a teary smile and kissed him on the cheek as she and Abby and Kyle headed to the kitchen to unpack the food.

"We thought your first morning home called for a traditional Abbott breakfast," Ashley added.

Jack sighed an apology, but Billy shrugged it off. He couldn't fight it if he wanted to. There had never been so many people in the trailer before or so much food on that tiny table. They were loud and dizzying and comforting. The strange new plate he ate from was never empty, his mouth never unwiped by his sisters, questions about how he was feeling never lacking. He fell asleep on the couch before they left and woke up hours late with his mother sitting watch, close and expectant. This was his new existence. This was the next six weeks.

* * *

It was strange standing outside the trailer, face to face with the screen door she'd slammed more times than she could remember. Only, she could remember them. All of them.

Could she do this? Could she really do this? It had been almost exactly a year since they'd intentionally spent the night under the same roof, and this roof was considerably smaller and stuffed full of memories. Good memories.

"Stop it," Victoria admonished herself, and the breath that followed turned white as soon as it hit the cold March air and then disappeared in the yellow porch light. What was she so afraid of? That the screen door was a time machine or Pandora's box? This was no different than the last three weeks, she reminded herself. This was no different from the hospital. She was here to help, just to help. And to continue fulfilling her promise to see him through his recovery. He would probably already be asleep anyway, asleep still when she snuck out in the morning. Besides, she already lived in a house of memories. What was a trailer?

She knocked before she changed her mind, and unlike in the past, waited for someone to let her in. No one showed, so she opened the door herself, and yelling greeted her. Yelling and the heart-stopping past. It looked exactly the same. Except for a few Mylar balloons , it looked exactly the same. And it felt exactly the same. Only she was different. They were different.

She didn't have time to dwell or reminisce, thankfully, and instead followed the loud, familiar voices down the hall where she found Billy sitting on his bed, shirtless and red-faced, while Jill stood over him, her hands cutting the air like a band leader as she yelled. The yelling ended abruptly with her presence, and the silence that followed seemed strangely louder.

"Hi," Victoria said quietly.

"What are you doing here? What's she doing here?" He was no longer yelling, his voice steady and calm, but Victoria knew him, knew him better than anyone, and he was angry, angry like she hadn't seen in a while. The worst part was her being seemed like gasoline on the fire.

"It's…my turn. Didn't you…Jill didn't…"

"Billy—" Jill started, but he cut them both off.

"Your turn? Your turn? I see. Well, don't worry, Vick, I don't need anymore babysitters. Mommy Dearest is here."

That was it. A memory snapped, and she was gone, faster than she had arrived. Jill glared at him, open-mouthed, but her disappointment was no match for his regret as the screen door slammed. If he could, he would have run after her.

"What are you thinking, Billy?" his mother shouted at him.

"I'm just doing her a favor. She didn't want to be here. She's done enough."

"Why don't you let her decide that. Look, you can—look at me!" He did as he was told and was surprised to see her anger still there, stronger than before. He was more surprised to see moisture in her eyes that translated as a break in her voice. "You can yell at me all you want, Billy. I deserve it. I've earned your anger. But not her. Do not push her away. Not again. She needs to be here. Take it from someone who knows.

He couldn't watch his mother storm out, but he heard the front door slam and knew that for the second time he was alone. It had only taken twenty-four hours to run them off. A record for sure. Carefully, he stood and with the walker that now symbolized loneliness instead of independence, he eased his way down the hall only to find he wasn't alone. Victoria stood at the door, her back against it, her coat still on, but still there. A dozen emotions were written across her face, many he regretted, most he loved, so much he just wanted to make better.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I just…it's been a long day."

He looked smaller standing there, shirtless, propped up by a walker. He was smaller, though. He'd lost weight, his muscles weren't as pronounced as she remembered. It took her breath away, but that wasn't why she let him stand in his apology. She needed more. She deserved more.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," he continued when she said nothing. "Or at her. I just-I can't do anything, you know. And the things I can do, nobody will let me do. It's just—"

"Frustrating? I remember. When I came out of my coma, it was the same way. I couldn't take care of myself, much less Reed. It was really hard, but sometimes you just have to let people help." She did remember the struggle. She remembered all the questions. Would her body be the same? Would her brain work the same? Would things ever be normal? She forgave him instantly.

"It's the little things, isn't it?" he smiled, and she did, too. "Like getting dressed. Or taking a shower. That's what we were fighting about. So stupid. She was probably right, but …you know I haven't had a shower since Valentine's Day? And I just-I wanted to stand under the hot water and feel clean. Instead I made a mess. Another mess."

"Let me help you."

"Vick, you don't …" He stopped because of the look on her face. It was beautiful and it was sad and it was desperate. He'd seen it before. In the hospital chapel after they'd lost their baby. In a dozen other places after they lost Delia. She'd stood there begging him to let her help. Why hadn't he? Why hadn't he seen then what he saw now, beneath her skin, beneath her façade, a wound as deep as his. "Okay."

She secured a towel around his waist and let him remove the rest of his clothes while she searched the cabinets for supplies. He sat obediently on the stool in the bathroom while she wrapped his cast in the only plastic she found, a trash bag trimmed to fit and placed over the washcloth she'd stuck in the ends of the plaster, secured with a rubber band on his bicep. She was meticulous in her work, and he was meticulous in watching her.

"All set," she said when it was done and helped him stand and step over the ledge of the shower. She turned her head and held her hand out until she felt terry cloth in her grip. "Hold onto the wall as much as you can. I'll be right outside if you need me."

The tiny bathroom was soon filled with the sound of water against tile, and steam soon made visibility low. She could still see him, though, his reflection in the mirror. His form was distorted by the glass, but she could make out the darker part of his shoulder that was still marked in part with her name, a little lighter, but still there, and she remembered what Dr Walker had told her. He'd never come back for another visit. Would she ever know why? Would she want to know?

In a split second his form was upright and then faltering. In another, she was throwing open the shower door to see him holding onto the wall for dear life. "Billy," she breathed, and grabbed him and then he was against her, heavy and wet, but upright. The steam was heavier, but she could see him clearly, his lips at eye level as the spray from the hot water bounced off his head and onto her hers. This was not what she had intended when she suggested the trailer. This was not the same as the hospital. Her nearness affected him, too, physically, in a way that was more than a quickened pulse, in a way that should have embarrassed both, and it did.

"Sorry," he blushed into her neck as she reached to turn off the water. "Kinda a relief, though. I was beginning to worry…"

She realized then that all the times she had applied balm to the scar on his leg and he'd clenched, it wasn't to prevent a reaction; it was anxiety over not having a reaction. It was one of those things he worried would never be the same. It was a relief, this moment. It was a relief the moment she turned the metal handle and the trickle of water became an ice cold shower that made them both lose their breath to laughter until she fished his towel from the floor and wrangled him from the shower and back to the stool.

"Hey, Vick?" he said as he let her dry his hair with another towel Esther must have bought.

"Hmm?"

"This-that isn't gonna cause problems for you is it? I don't want it to."

"What do you mean?"

"Like with Stitch."

"Oh," she said as she finished with his hair, and used the towel to wipe a clear circle in the steamy mirror. "It won't."

"You sure? Cause I don't…"

"Why don't you let me worry about that, okay?"

"Okay." She was looking at herself in the mirror, at the wet spots on her button up shirt and the waistband of her jeans. He, on the other hand, saw the hairy face beside her and rubbed at his whiskers with his left hand. "Guess this will have to wait a while."

"Or I can do it?" she offered with a shrug. "If you trust me."

"I trust you, Vick."

"You may have to walk me through it."

"Okay."

As he instructed, she placed a hot towel across his face and used the few minutes it needed to soften the hair to discard her wet shirt and reveal the deep blue tank top she wore under it.

"Shaving cream should be under the sink," he said and watched as she swirled the white foam in her hand and then wiped it gently over the lower half of his face. It tickled and felt nice, and he fought the urge to laugh at her focus.

"Okay," she breathed nervously when that part of the task was done and she picked up the razor like she'd never seen one before.

"Go with grain. You won't hurt me." She nodded and smiled and stepped closer to him, between his splayed legs. Instinctively, to steady himself, he reached for her, looping his fingers in her belt loops. He almost pulled away when he realized what he'd done, but it seemed to calm her knowing at least one of them was steady. With each stroke of the razor, she leaned closer, almost part of him. He watched her face in the mirror, the way the corner of her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth and her eyes followed the careful path of the razor as it maneuvered the angles of his face and the roadblocks of the remaining scars. But as his face became smoother, he recognized something else. With each swipe, each white strip that became smooth skin, she smiled. Her face relaxed, her body relaxed. She was happy to do this for him. She needed to do this for him.

He hit the cool sheets clean and tired, smooth-shaven and dressed by himself. He flipped through new pictures of the kids while Victoria cleaned the bathroom and brought his medicine and a glass of water. She was still wearing the tank top and jeans, her button up shirt hung up to dry. He hadn't seen any signs of an overnight bag, which made him question if staying had really been on her agenda.

"Is this weird?" he asked as she stuffed a pillow under his cast and tucked the covers around him as he'd witnessed her do so lovingly for Reed and Delia and Lucy and Johnny and Katherine. "This is weird, huh? Being here?"

"A little," she smiled. "But I'm getting used to it."

"Feels different, doesn't it?"

She didn't answer him, but sighed and smoothed the covers down on either side of him. "You warm enough?"

"Mmmhmm. You gonna be okay on the sofa?"

"Yeah." Her hand was on the light switch when she ducked her head and smiled just before the room went dark. "It won't be the first time."

His chuckle followed her down the hall, but then the little trailer grew quiet, quiet enough for the memories to emerge. They were good memories, bittersweet, and they'd made another one tonight, wading in the waters of their new relationship. Co-parents. Friends maybe. Survivors of the worst. Just as she had told him.

The couch wasn't made up, and she didn't bother folding it out. She had a ton of work to do, and sleep seemed unlikely. As she sat and tucked her legs beneath her, she pulled her phone out and sent a text to Jack: He needs a way to shower on his own.

"Done," came his response and then a follow up a few seconds later. "Thank you."

Down the hall, gentle snores chased away the silence. He was asleep.

She'd lied to him. When he asked if it was weird being here. It was weird, of course. But now, sitting in the dark, listening to him sleep, the only thing that was weird was the only thing that was weird at all. He was there, and she was here.

She was only here to help.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the delay. Glad you're still enjoying. I love writing Jill. She's one of my favorites to write.**

**Happy reading,**

**Rhonda**

**Balm**

**Chapter 16**

"Tuesday? Uh…Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday…yes, Tuesday works. As long as it's in the morning. I'm going to need my afternoon blocked to take Bil-for a personal appointment. Ten is perfect. Oh and Connie, can you reschedule the branding meeting, too? I'm nowhere near ready for it anyway," Victoria added with a sigh as she hung up the phone and watched the color-coded hours of her week morph and change on the screen in front of her. Every day was full and divided into shades of work and the kids. And Billy.

Work took up most of her waking hours, her scheduled waking hours anyway, but her life was designed around Billy these days. There were visits with the kids she arranged carefully, in the afternoons when all parties were alert and at their least crabby, always at the Chancellor Mansion or Abby's, somewhere neutral. Never the trailer. Days without visits required Facetime sessions that she simply preferred to be present for. Then there were phone calls and meetings with Jill and whoever else to set and amend the schedule, determine what he needed in the coming days. And then there were the nights, blue colored chunks of her life that flowed like rivers across her calendar.

"Knock, knock." Her brother's head appeared in the doorway of their father's office, a timely interruption to her unscheduled detour back to Sunday night and all the nights to come. She motioned for him to come in and quickly closed her laptop as he plopped into the first of the pair of chairs across from her.

"You working in the big office, huh?"

There was a hint of jealousy, a glimmer of sibling rivalry beneath his smirk that prickled her defenses and straightened her back. "Yeah, well Dad asked me to look after things while he's out of town. It's just easier handling his affairs from here."

He could have made a remark, challenged her logic, gotten in a dig that would have led to a retaliatory dig, but there was no sign of jealousy, just a deep wrinkle in his forehead. "Dad's out of town?"

"Yeah. He didn't tell you? Some mysterious last minute thing. He'll be back in a couple of days."

"Cool."

"Cool," she mimicked as he relaxed into his chair and casually crossed his legs. He was alone and without a care in the world. But he shouldn't have been alone, and she peered curiously over the top of the desk and then at the empty open doorway. "Where's my son?"

"Huh. You know he's probably riding the elevator or something." Her jaw dropped and she stood in a panic before catching the glint in his eyes that she should have anticipated. She folded her arms in defiance, which amused her brother even more as she towered over him doing her best Victor Newman impression. "Relax. Johnny's with Connie. Helping her answer the phone."

"Oh, well, I'm sure our investors are loving that," she smirked before plopping back into her father's chair. "Thank you for picking him up by the way. And for bringing him here. And for letting him spend the night. Did I say thank you?"

"No problem. I love hanging out with the little dude. He still thinks I'm cool, unlike Faith. And I don't exactly have a lot going on lately." He didn't have to say Sage's name for her to understand the sad undertone of his self-deprecating humor, and she didn't say it out of respect for him. Not that he gave her the chance. "Plus, it gets Summer to come around the ranch more. I mean how else would I get her to spend a Friday night with her old man?"

"And not with her husband, right?"

"Hey, I'm just saying that a lot of us benefit from you spending the night with Billy."

"Nick! Why would you say that? I am not spending the night with Billy." He raised an amused eyebrow that called bullshit on her high-pitched declaration. "I'm just…I'm...look, the doctor said someone has to stay with him at all times. That's what I'm doing. That's all I'm doing."

"So, you're saying you didn't spend the night with Billy?"

"Stop saying it like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like…something happened."

"So something happened?" He was fully amused by her flustered behavior.

"No." Her response was adamant, but the single syllable trailed off in a shadowy grey area of truth. Nothing had happened on Wednesday, the second night she spent alone with Billy in that sardine can of the past. She'd planned to show up later than she had the first night, and her plan had worked. He was already in bed when she got there, fast asleep and fast asleep still when she snuck out before the sun breeched the horizon, out the door as soon as Traci passed through it. But Sunday was less black and white, more steam and rekindled possibilities. Her brother seemed to know this without knowing the details. Maybe because he knew them or her, knew the situation. Or because her face gave it away.

"Nothing happened," she repeated calmly and forced the stack of papers in front of her into a perfect rectangle. "It was just weird, ok? Being there. And then it was also very normal. Too normal. We laughed. And he's different now, Nick. Different, but the same. And…look it's just for a few weeks. Nothing's gonna happen."

"You sure about that?" There was little teasing in his voice. He was gentle and his eyes sincere, a combination that would usually lead her to saying 'no' and confessing the concerns that tugged at her in the few quiet moments she allowed herself. But not today. Not about this.

"I'm sure. I'm sure that I'm going to make sure it doesn't."

"There's no guarantees, Vick. Not when love's involved." She shot him a dangerous look, and he put his hands up in surrender. "I'm just looking out for ya. I don't want to see you get hurt again. And as much as you don't want to, I know you still love him."

"I do," she admitted with nothing to hide. "I do, and being there, at the trailer, it reminded me of that, okay? It also reminded me of everything we lost." She hoped that would be enough, a cold admittance doused with even colder reality. But while his lips stayed fixed in a smile of sympathy, his eyes were unconvinced and determined that she was kidding herself. It bothered her and she violently re-shuffled the neat stack of papers until the corners were bent and hopelessly disarrayed. "Look, I still want him to be happy. I want him to get better. I want him to be with his kids and his family. And I want to help him. I can't explain why, but I need to do this. Maybe it's closure."

"Or maybe you just want to be with him," her brother shrugged.

Victoria didn't breathe until the shrill ring of the desk phone granted her permission. She exhaled the weight of her color-coded world and quickly wiped at the single rebel tear she hadn't been able to control.

"Get it," Nick said after the second ring. "It might be important."

"This is Victoria Newman."

"No, it's Mommy!" came the sweet little voice that crumbled her meager mustered professionalism and made her watery eyes crease with joy.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. This is Mommy."

"Somebody here to see you."

"Somebody's here to see me?" she played along. "I wonder who it could be. Please show him in."

She could hear the soft encouragement from her father's secretary who was more like family, both through the phone and from the open doorway, and in less than two seconds, Johnny rushed through it and dove into her lap, his little knees inflicting unintended pain to her ribs.

"Told you it was important," her brother smiled as she covered her son with kisses and asked about his day and if he was excited to spend the night with Faith and Summer at the ranch. It was just what she needed, a few minutes of unscheduled snuggles to re-focus, to re-build the emotional boundaries, to dam up her heart against another night with Billy and a tingle of truth she labeled gratitude as self-preservation.

* * *

His favorite picture was the middle of three on the wall opposite him. It called to him, the image of a great frothy wave curled over on itself, the glassy tunnel of water inside the curl. It was nothing as large or impressive as the ones he'd surfed on the North Shore or off the Gold Coast of Australia or any of the hidden surfing gems he'd discovered on the great Billy Abbott disappointment tour across Asia. Both versions. But still, staring at it hard enough he could feel the stinging spray, the godlike rush of riding water, the cocoon of deafening safety that sealed him off from the rest of the world. From all its expectations, its questions.

"So, what have you written?"

Surfing was a high, more or less dangerous than gambling depending on the wave or the hand dealt, but the waves always crashed, the ocean thrusting you back to the real world. And in the stumbling depression, a fan of blank pages he had flipped through a dozen times a day over the past week greeted him with an all too familiar ripple of shame.

"Billy? I asked about your writing."

He held up his right arm in response, the ink and marker-covered cast his excuse and defense of empty pages. The warm smile on the doctor's face curled into calm amusement in the length of time it took to wipe out. She tilted her head in concession, and with that same look, studied his face like she could read what he would have written anyway.

"I see you shaved since our last meeting. Looks good."

He touched the stubble on his jaw instinctively, no longer clean-shaven from Sunday, but trim and neat from the electric razor he'd found he could manage left-handed. "I…didn't. Someone, uh, I had help."

"Must have been important to you, shaving? To ask for help. To find a way around your…handicap?" She was wrong. It hadn't been important, but he understood what she was getting at and anticipated the scolding words that would follow the smoothing of her skirt, the folding of her hands in her lap, the leaning forward so he couldn't avoid her gaze in favor of his favorite picture on the wall of her office. But there was no scolding, just another smile. "Did you think I expected you to write with a broken arm? The only thing I expected was that you find a way. A laptop perhaps? One of those fancy tablets you can talk to? Your other arm? Ask for a little help?"

He had no excuse except cowardice. Because he had found a way once before. In that basement. With a freshly broken arm and bone-chilling cold, the light of a dying cell phone. He'd felt little pain or fear when he'd written what had seemed his last words, only sadness and regret. Had he written them, though? Did that letter exist? Or had he hallucinated it all, his noble attempt to say goodbye to Victoria? She hadn't mentioned it once since he woke up. But why would she? Maybe she never even got it. Maybe the paramedic never gave it to her. Maybe his handwriting was too illegible. Maybe the words he'd written were not enough. Maybe they were too much.

"Well, then we do this the old-fashioned way," Dr. Davis-Greene announced and settled back into her chair, a fresh notepad balanced on her lap. "Talk. Tell me one truth."

His wave was flanked by two extremes. A tranquil aqua sea kissed white sand in one and in the other, the same aqua water crashed violently against a rocky cliff, the kind adventure seekers fling themselves from to feel alive or prove their manhood. He had to do this. He had to keep the silent promise he'd made to himself in the early hours of Monday morning as he lay in his prison of a bed and listened to Victoria toss and turn on the couch, his couch, and finally surrender to the muffle of the television. He'd realized then how incredibly lucky he was she was still there, that she had stayed when he hadn't deserved it, that any 'next time' could remove her from his life for good.

But here he was, still frozen on a jagged ledge, too afraid of what was below to jump. His right leg bounced with nervous energy, and he closed his eyes to conjure Victoria's face, the way she looked when he had asked why she was at the trailer. Hurt. Confused. Broken. One truth. He could give her a million.

"You were right," he finally blurted

"Every woman's favorite words," he heard the doctor quip and smiled in spite of his nerves. "What exactly was I right about?"

"Everything," he sighed and opened his eyes. "That I wasn't the only one hurt. That I should remember that. That this would be hard."

"It sounds like something happened."

"You could, uh, you could say that." He saw in her warm, focused eyes that there would be no more tip-toeing in the shallow end and that his casual shrug was not an acceptable explanation or end to the conversation. "Same old thing. I got mad and blew up."

"Who did you blow up at, Billy?'

"My mom. Mostly. And, uh, my…my ex-wife showed up for the encore."

"Victoria?" He didn't like hearing her name in this room, but he nodded anyway and found that it was preferable to the bitter taste of 'ex-wife' on his tongue. "How did they react?"

"My mom yelled back. We're good at that. Then she left."

"And Victoria?"

"She just left. I mean, I thought she left. But…she didn't."

"And how did that make you feel? When you blew up and they left?"

"Like I shoulda been left in that basement."

Billy placed his hand on his leg to stop it from shaking. He found the scar on his ring finger instead and rubbed at it until he realized Dr. Davis-Greene was watching. He felt his face flush and cleared his throat. "I don't want to do that again. How do I not do that again?"

"Do what exactly?"

"Blow up at the people I love. Make'em hurt worse."

"A goal," she smiled, the unmistakable sound of pride in her voice. It made him squirm. It made him feel hopeful, too. "It's good to have a goal, Billy. But to do that we need to figure out why you "blew up" as you put it. Anger is a secondary emotion. A sort of cover-up for real feelings. What happened that day? Before the incident with your mother and Victoria?"

"Not much," he shrugged. "My family came over. We had breakfast."

"Anything about that make you upset or uncomfortable even?"

"Nah," he said without really thinking about the question, but in the silence that followed, he realized his answer wasn't quite true. "I mean it's kinda silly."

"Nothing you feel is silly." Dr. Davis-Greene put away the notepad, its yellow lines still devoid of inky scribbles, and scooted to the edge of her chair.

"They…didn't knock." He still wished for the safety of a monster wave, but he was caught in a riptide instead, the force of it too strong to fight. So, he did the only thing he could, let it carry him farther from shore, into deeper, bottomless water. In scarce detail, he told her how they had barged into his trailer and took over his kitchen. He told her how he loved his sisters, but not when they fed him or wiped his mouth like he was a child. And when his mother showed up it was more of the same smothering, mothering, inescapable love that made him feel helpless and reminded him of his wounds and all the things he'd done wrong since Delia died. And all the things he'd done wrong before she died.

"And those feelings of helplessness and disrespect manifested as anger, didn't they?"

"I guess so. So, how do I not do that?"

"The truth," she answered, the words floating from her mouth as easy as air. "Recognize what's triggering the anger, the true emotion you're afraid to express. And then communicate, Billy. They're your family. Tell them you want them to knock before entering your home. Tell your mother when you don't need her help and when you do. Be open with them. Be honest. Come from a place of love and respect and don't be afraid to ask them the questions you have or tell them the things you've obviously been holding onto for a long time."

It sounded easy coming from the well-meaning stranger who knew a handful of facts about him and his life. But there was nothing easy about the questions he had, the things he needed to say, and mostly, the people he needed to say them to. "No," he said plainly and reached for the loaner walker the pretty nurse who'd wheeled him there had parked beside him. "I told you I don't want to hurt them anymore. Bringing this stuff up, it'll just make things worse."

"And what about you? Do you deserve to keep hurting, Billy?" He had pulled himself to his feet when her voice hit him, hard and clear. She stood quicker than he was capable of and beat him to her office door. Her hand gripped the knob, but he wasn't sure if she was going to show him out or keep him in. "How do you clean a wound?"

He rolled his eyes and his shoulders. He just wanted to leave without answering a riddle.

"Your child falls down. Scrapes her knee. Do you just slap on a Band-Aid and let her go? Or do you clean it even though 'it hurts, Daddy?'"

"Some things can't be fixed. Even by doctors," he said through a clenched jaw. His whole body quivered with pain, and he didn't know how much longer he could stand. But still she blocked his escape.

"You know that better than most. But the things you can? What about the things you can?" The doorknob turned with an echoing click, and Dr. Davis-Greene stepped aside, the pale blue of her skirt flowing behind her.

"This week," she said as he clomped his way across the threshold. "Write. Work on communicating. And Billy? You shouldn't have been left in that basement."

Her words followed him to physical therapy, the truth of her words, the truth he was always running from. He used his annoyance as motivation for one more rep, ten more steps without the walker. He sweated out the truth and breathed it in by the gasping mouthful, and by the end he had made up his mind to just try the doctor's way. He would have Victoria to himself tonight, and instead of avoiding her by going to bed early like he'd done on Wednesday, he would ask her the questions he had. He would be honest with her, even if it stung like antiseptic. They used to be honest with each other. Why couldn't they go back to that? Why couldn't they have a fresh start? Even if she'd made it clear friendship was as far as they'd go. Even if the truth was she had someone else anyway.

The truth of that was still on his mind as he waited for Jack, drenched with sweat and high on possibility. But truth can come from anywhere, at anytime. It can breeze off an elevator, oblivious to a sweaty man in a regulation wheelchair until he catches the corner of it with his knee and starts to apologize until he realizes who the man is. Then truth has a buzz cut and the regimented stance of a soldier. And a jealous glare that reveals truth isn't always as clear as it should be.

* * *

The handle of the Pack 'N Play dug into Victoria's forearm, and she questioned again her wisdom in this plan. She had no free hand or elbow or shoulder to knock, so she swung the largest of her encumbrances at the door until she heard movement on the other side. Jack answered, shoeless and the sleeves of his water-splattered shirt rolled to his elbows. She plastered on a fake smile when she heard Billy's voice behind him. His appearance was just as unexpected. He was shirtless and his hair wet, a towel slung around his shoulders like a scarf, and the drawstring waist of his gray bottoms hung dangerously low on his hips like an afterthought. She tried not to stare, but both men seemed equally surprised by her, by her earliness and all the things she carried.

"Here, let me help," Jack finally said and reached for the two heaviest items, the folded Pack 'N Play and the car seat covered with a pink blanket. She relinquished them reluctantly and motioned with her now-free hand for Jack to put the baby on the sofa. Billy hadn't taken his smiling eyes off her since she walked through the door, but he watched intently as his brother uncovered the car seat and revealed that his daughter was indeed underneath the pink blanket, wriggling her way out of sleep. He was in a good mood, happy even, nothing like that first night she came to stay, but still Victoria swore she saw a shadow of disappointment or maybe confusion cross his face. It didn't last long, though, and he was soon inching his walker closer to the couch, a huge crooked grin on his face.

"Hey. Hey, Katherine Rose. What are you doing here, little monkey?"

"I hope it's okay," Victoria answered softly, and in one skilled move, she let the rest of her loot slide from her arms and settle onto the floor without a sound. Not that either man noticed. They were flanking the car seat and fully enamored with its tiny inhabitant, cooing at her, making funny faces, speaking gibberish in silly voices that they'd never admit to later. She sighed in relief. This was what she had counted on, a distraction, something to focus on besides where they were and why. "Johnny's spending the night with Faith, and well, she's been waking up some up at night. I didn't want to put Nick out."

It wasn't a complete lie. Katie did still wake up most nights for a feeding, and she had seemed fussier than normal last night. But it most definitely felt like a lie when Billy faced her with sad, guilty eyes. "Vick, I told you…if this is an inconvenience…"

"Yeah, I can stay if you need to go, Victoria," Jack chimed in.

"No. It isn't. I don't-you don't-I-" She stopped herself and took a deep breath to gather her words before meeting his sad eyes full on. "I can stay. I want to stay. I mean unless having her here isn't good for you."

"Are you kidding?" Billy beamed, and the room seemed larger, but void of everyone else.

"So we stay?" she murmured, and Katie cooed in response, which elicited a chuckle from all three. Her little hand was wrapped around one of Billy's fingers so tight that separating them wouldn't have been possible anyway.

"I guess I'll be going then." Jack stood, his formality reminding the rest of the group he was still there. He unrolled his shirt sleeves with slow ceremony and eyed the folded Pack 'N Play as he slipped his shoes back on. "You need any help with this before I go?"

"No," Victoria blurted. Both men were startled by her coldness, though only Billy was confused by it. "No, it's fine," she rephrased with a tight smile and manufactured warmth. "I can manage."

He accepted her rejection with the grace of his father and the shame of a guilty party. It bothered her that every shared look was a plea to let him confess about knowing Adam was alive. The worst part was his guilt only served to remind her of her own. He couldn't leave fast enough for Victoria. She counted the seconds it took him to bid his goddaughter farewell with a gentle tweak of her nose and to give a brotherly squeeze to Billy's bare shoulder, promising he'd get 'that thing you asked for' to him by tomorrow.

The tension was halved as soon as Jack was gone, and awkward silence enveloped the little trailer in its place. There was no noise except for the occasional squirm from the baby. Victoria went to her and undid her restraints, removed her little jacket as well as her own to solidify their plans for the evening. Doing so must have reminded Billy of his lack of clothing, his bare chest still marked with fading scars, still warm and perfumed from the shower.

"Don't worry. I already showered," he teased, as if he could read her mind. A clean shirt was folded on the coffee table, and he ditched the towel in its place, working the soft white cotton over his cast and his head little by little. "Thanks for your help with that, by the way. With the bars in there and the seat and everything. Jack said that was your idea. He only has to help me in and out now."

"You're welcome," she said primly and grabbed for Katie at the timely hint of a cry. "She's probably hungry."

"I can feed her." He reached across the car seat, grabbing Victoria's wrist as she stood. His desperation startled her. It startled him too, and he ducked his head and peeled his fingers from her wrist one by one in an exaggerated, animated gesture. "So, you can eat your dinner," he explained. "I already ate. And I'd love to hold her a while."

She had come prepared tonight. That's the first thing he had noticed when the shock of seeing Katie wore off. She'd come prepared for Katie of course with the crib and diaper bag, but also for herself. There was a small overnight bag that convinced him she wouldn't be crashing on the sofa in her tailored skirt suit and heels, plus her laptop bag, her briefcase and a takeout bag from the GCAC. The second thing he noticed was the tailored skirt and heels.

"Oh," she said, following his gaze to the handled paper bag. "Well, I brought something for you, too, just in case, but I-I guess I can just put it in the fridge for later? If you're sure."

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to control his smile and settled against the sofa cushions, covering his cast with a pillow to show her he was sure and ready to receive the baby. Katie stopped fussing as soon as she hit the pillow, giving Victoria time to warm the one bottle of breastmilk she brought and put half her takeout order in the aqua fridge that contained more food than it ever had.

"You doing okay?" she asked as she approached the couch again, her salad and bottled water balanced in one hand, Katie's bottle in the other. She handed it to him and leaned down to stick a bib under the baby's chin, not realizing until she looked up that her face was centimeters from Billy's. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and the masculine scent of his shampoo was in every bit of air she breathed in.

"Perfect," he whispered and folded the warm palm of his hand around hers that gripped the bottle.

It was her turn to pull away this time, quickly, awkwardly, almost dropping her food. "A fork," she gasped. "I, uh, I forgot a fork." She went into multitasking mode, clearing the coffee table of Billy's wet towel and dirty dishes, not stopping to catch her breath until she reached the sink. She found a fork too soon. Of course she found a fork. They were in the fork drawer. In what passed for a living room, Billy talked to the baby, their baby, and she returned to them like a moth to a flame. It would have been weird not to she rationalized, but she chose the chair this time, an entire piece of furniture away from them.

She ate slowly, he noticed. And he watched every bite approach her lips in sly glances. She studied the place, too, as he studied her, picking up foreign objects like the leather-bound journal that her impromptu cleaning had uncovered on the coffee table. She turned it over in her hands, but asked nothing about it before moving on to the stack of magazines Abby had left behind. It seemed he was the only one looking for deep conversation tonight.

The night had been derailed a bit, but not thrown entirely off-course by the addition of Katie. He couldn't help but wonder if the real reason she brought the baby had anything to do with what he learned from his run-in with Stitch at the hospital. He twitched to ask her about it. And about the letter. And a list of other things from the mundane to the heartbreaking. Be open, the voice in his headed yelled. Be honest. Take a leap.

"Hey, what was that with you and Jack just now?" he ventured as casually as he wiped a drop of milk from his daughter's chin.

"What do you mean?" She shoved another bite into her already full mouth.

"Vick? C'mon. That was more than a cold shoulder."

"No, it wasn't. I was probably just tired or something."

"Vick."

He had a way with her, a way of knowing her, reading her, coaxing information from her overly-protected vault. She couldn't let him know about this, though. "It's nothing," she lied. "Jack…just, he wasn't completely on board with you staying here, okay? You know he'd rather have you under the Abbott roof. We disagreed. That's all."

"Oh," Seconds passed, a full minute. He switched his grip on the bottle. His legs tingled as her words dissolved into another meaning, another question that threatened to sting. "Whose idea was it then? For me to stay here?"

"Mine." It was barely a sound, but it pierced the air like a bullet. Victoria put her fork down, her appetite suddenly gone. He looked hurt, and she felt like she was on trial. She had feared he would read too much into the trailer. She hadn't considered he'd feel unwanted. She moved back to the couch, forcing herself into his space. "It…seemed like the best option. I know how you are with your family. You love them, but they kinda suffocate you. I thought you'd want a place that was yours, and since…it just seemed like the best option. Was I wrong?"

Slowly, his head moved from side to side, buying time until words were possible. "You weren't wrong."

She seemed relived, and he felt the relief too. And a rush that was kin to catching a big wave. They'd had an open conversation. And they'd both survived unscathed. It gave him hope that he could ask her about the letter or what Stitch had told him, but a tiny distraction swaddled in pink postponed the rest. Katie spit out the bottle, letting him know she was done. Victoria reached for a spit up cloth and tried to take her, but Billy had already scooped his good arm under her and had her against his clean shirt, expertly rubbing her back until she burped. It was a strange combination of burp and laugh actually, her first real laugh.

"I should've known you'd be responsible for her first laugh," Victoria sighed wistfully.

"That was her first laugh?" he asked in awe.

"Mmmhmm."

Billy stared at the baby, studied her like it was the first time seeing her. Then he kissed her, nuzzling his whiskers against her chin until he elicited her second real laugh. And then a third and a fourth. "She has your laugh."

"And she has you to make her laugh. She's a lucky girl."

"I missed so much, Vick," he confessed as he studied her little fingers, her tiny feet kicking inside her footed onesie, the little pink 'o' her mouth formed as she yawned and stretched.

"Not so much," Victoria said. He thought he saw a tear form in the corner of her eye, but any illusion of moisture was quickly gone. "I should get her to bed."

"Just a little bit longer," he pleaded. "If you don't mind."

She didn't mind. She didn't mind that he was there to hold their daughter. To make her laugh. She didn't mind to leave them there on that green sofa and set up her laptop on the kitchen table, just feet away from them as she tried to concentrate on work. God, how she didn't mind it. She didn't mind how surreal it all felt, how domestic. Mother and father and child spending a Friday night in. Nothing was gonna happen, but it was nice to pretend in a few quiet moments.

The quiet moments multiplied and it was 11:00 before she knew it, before she cracked the marketing plan that haunted her. The two on the sofa were fast asleep, Katie against Billy's chest, his good arm protectively over her. She hated to disturb them, but he couldn't be comfortable, and she was more tired than she cared to admit. Maybe tonight would be the night sleep stayed for longer than a couple hours.

The Pack 'N Play went up noiselessly, and gently, she pulled the baby from him. He stirred, but not enough to wake up. Katie didn't stir at all as she changed her diaper and placed her in her bed. Neither noticed when Victoria grabbed her overnight bag and stepped inside the bathroom to change. There was no steam tonight, and the shower was only vaguely familiar with its temporary modifications. The doorknob was the same, though, and she remembered as she pushed it to and shed her work clothes in exchange for pajamas that not all doors should be closed.

He was still passed out when she emerged, still incapacitated when she leaned down and out his arm around her neck for leverage. "Let's get you to bed," she whispered and finally he stirred. He might have been drunk. It might have been a regular night when he'd had one beer too many and she helped him to bed. He was heavy against her as they stumbled down the hallway. He held on to her tight, to keep from falling she was sure. She held on tight because she had missed it, missed the hospital and the excuses for touching him.

They half fell onto the cool sheets that she quickly pulled down and then back over him. She was out of breath by then, and he rolled his head against the pillow until he found a sweet spot. In the dark she saw him, the bright white of his t-shirt, the edge of his mouth, the handle Jack had had installed beside the headboard so he could pull himself up. It might have been a regular night except for that. It might have been a night she crawled in beside him, curled up against him. And slept.

"Good night, Vick," he said in slurred, happy words.

"Night, Billy. Sleep well."

* * *

He heard the faint cry of a baby. It was his turn. He'd let Victoria sleep so she could be up for her meeting tomorrow. He couldn't get up, though. He must have had too much to drink. He reached in the dark for help and found it dangling beside his head, cool metal to leverage his weight against. Walking was harder than he remembered, but he crept down the hallway anyway, holding onto the wall for support, and by the time he got to the living room, two things had happened. The baby had stopped crying, and he remembered where he was.

He was in the trailer, his trailer that once upon a time had been Murphy's trailer and then his, and two people had fought there and then fought their feelings there and then fallen in love there. Those two people were still there. They were back. And there was a baby, the last of a few.

He could see in the moonlit dark the bassinet was empty, but the sofa wasn't. She'd turned it down tonight, unfolded it, covered it with a sheet, covered herself with a blanket to her waist. That's where he found the baby, with her, against her, attached to her. Victoria's shirt was pulled up to her chin, their daughter at her bare breast. He stopped, moving and breathing, afraid he would wake her. But she was awake already, her instinct to cover herself already in motion.

But his lip trembled, and he thought he put a hand up and she didn't. She didn't cover herself. She didn't move. He'd missed so much. There was no denying it. And all the questions he'd thought about asking her, the hard truths between them that needed to be cleansed, they didn't mean anything. Not anymore.

A few seconds more and he turned and made the slow trip back to his bed. The truth was asleep on the couch, and it could stay there. Forever, buried in his memory, available as long as he had life. Nothing was worth more than. Nothing was worth risking that. Not a wave, not a truth, not a healing.


End file.
